Revenge for Janie E-Book

H. Berkeley Rourke

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Childhood sweethearts. An old score to settle.

Manny and Janie grow up together, get married, and are now expecting a baby. Their life together is perfect.

But Robert Martin has a score to settle with Manny, whether he realizes it or not. An old grudge will not give him peace until he has his revenge, one way or the other.

Can Manny keep his family safe?

Leseprobe

Revenge for Janie

A Ross Hendershot Novel IV

H. Berkeley Rourke

Copyright (C) 2016 H. Berkeley Rourke

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

eBook Cover Design by The Illustrated Author (www.theillustratedauthor.net)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Revenge, it is said, should be served cold. But life taken cries out for equally cruel results to those of the killer, doesn't it? But who takes the revenge?

1 Ross and Ralph Ride to Yuma

October 1910

Two men rode toward Yuma. It was deep into the year 1910. The men's names were Ross Hendershot and Ralph Forney. Though they had not seen each other in quite a while and had much to talk about they rode silently. Their horses were basically in charge of their trip, it being the horses who determined the gait at which they proceeded. It was the horses, within the constraints of an occasional movement of the reins under which they proceeded, which determined the direction, and it was the habits of youth leading the two men to engage in a mostly silent trek during the daylight hours of riding.

Talking took too much energy, each of them would say, if asked. Their way, the laconic, the quiet trust in their horses, the knowledge it was unnecessary to engage in conversation which certainly would come later, was the way of their lives, their experiences, their friendship of so many years standing. For each of them any extended discussion of the reason for their trek was a little painful, and it needed some time for them to mull it over before letting words flow.

Each had started his journey separately and the journey had proceeded in a solitary way for at least a couple of days. Their trail had joined in the early morning as the shafts of the son dawning slowly in the east found its way over the desert mountains. As they rode toward each other, seeing each other from afar at first, each thought of the many times they had ridden together in the past. It seemed to each of them as though those times had occurred in other lifetimes, or maybe just a few days in the past. They were both old enough to realize in a way the idea of other lifetimes was true, but time passing would not change their enjoyment of being together again.

They stopped as their horses came near to each other. They dismounted, walked to each other and in the familiar way of the Mexican people, embraced. As they did each wiped away a tear without embarrassment and then smiled. Ralph said, “Good to see you Ross.”

Ross said “Helluva way to get us back together again, but it's good to see you too Ralph. Come on any pilgrims on the way?” Ross's was asking if Ralph had run into any problematical persons on his ride to the point where they met.

“Nah.” Ralph said. “A few Yaquis on their way south, nothing troublesome though. How about you?”

“No. I was hoping to run onto the Martin kid and truss him up to the back of a horse,” Ross said, grinning broadly, “and take him back with you, and end this thing early. But I guess it's not to be, so let's get on with it.”

They mounted, gave the horses their head and started west again. They walked the horses, eating the distance a few feet at a time. The first few miles after meeting led to some conversation about how long it had been, what their wives had said to each of them about the trip, and a very brief discussion about the reason they were riding together again. Their laconic nature, the fact they were more men of action than talk, meant a question such as, “How is Flora?”, from Ralph, brought an answer of “She's just fine, said to say hello.”

The talk waned and finally died altogether as they rode. The initial thoughts each held about the trek were enough to know and justify their journey. Neither needed or wanted to discuss much more than those few words which passed. More would come later. It could wait. Neither was anxious to discuss chasing down another running murderer. For Ralph, it was extremely close to his heart since in the first instance of the two men chasing down a rapist murderer, his daughter was the victim. Now Ross was placed in a very similar position.

Their trek would take several days and they were in arid country. The desert was dry, without rain for many months, was dusty, a foreboding presence to both men and their horses. Slow movements were not only necessary but appropriate to conserving the moisture in their systems. Part of the reason for not carrying on a long conversation was talking wasted moisture from their bodies. They carried skins of water for their horses and canteens for themselves.

The canteens could also be used for the horses if need be. If the men needed it a little water would be sipped, or mixed with a little pemmican as they rested the horses in the heat of the day. They would rather be thirsty themselves than have the horses go without sufficient water. The most water either of the men would use on the ride would be to make coffee in the morning before dawn and a small drink before going to sleep at night.

The horses were their life, after all. If the horses died so did they, and both were completely aware it was so. The arid conditions led them to stop every couple of hours, walk with the horses for a while, put some water in their hat and let the horses drink. It was stopgap at best but it would get them across the hot and the arid Sonoran landscape to San Luis Potosi'. The Sonoran Desert is cruel, hot and unforgiving. It is also sparsely covered with vegetation. There is creosote aplenty but only a few Mesquite or Palo Verde trees.

There were no trails to be followed on their trek. There was only the sun at their back in the morning and in front in the afternoon, and of course the horses. The horses were experienced, had worked the desert on their respective ranches, many times. They plodded along, avoiding the very soft areas, areas where holes had been dug by the likes of kangaroo mice. They also avoided the center pieces of the creosote bushes, knowing, as did the riders, there were sharp edges to be found there, edges which could cut the fetters of the horses with strong potential for infection to follow.

The men hoped, as they came together, to reach the small town of San Luis Potosi', Sonora, Mexico by evening. In time, as they rode both trusted they would encounter a trail, probably a north south leading trail. It would lead them to a hacienda or perhaps directly to San Luis Potosi' or some other obscure desert community. They thought San Luis to be about a day's ride from where they had met each other. It turned out to be closer to two day's riding. In San Luis, they would seek out the Alcalde, the mayor, who both knew very well, and see where it would be best to stay for the night. From San Luis, it still was about a two-day ride to Yuma, still across the difficult and dangerous desert. As the two men were going about setting up a camp they would for stay in for the night both prepared to discuss the day, the ride, the reason for the ride, the main topic they needed to talk about before the end of the evening.

As the sun began to glow yellow in the west, sinking slowly behind the hills it spread an array of colors across the sky. By then camp was set, some pemmican was being chewed on, and in time a smoke would hang out of the mouth of each. Admiring the golds, the purple hues, the fiery reds reflecting from the few scudding clouds, they stared, both missing their wives, ate their pemmican, some hardtack and drank a few sips of water. Before nightfall they gathered what wood they could find in this barren desert for a small fire. As they began to talk the embers of the fire blazed brightly. By the time their conversation was done the embers were all but extinguished.

They were riding to Yuma to meet with Ross's son, and Ralph Forney's godson, Ralph Manuel Hendershot, who they called Manny, and to attend the funeral of Manny's wife, if they arrived soon enough. She had been shot to death in what was a failed attempt to kill Manny. The deed was done by a man who came out of the dim recesses of Ross and Ralph's past. The man from the past was a son of another Ross had killed in the desert. The shooter's name was Robert Martin and Martin was on the run.

Martin left Yuma in a hurry after shooting Manny's wife. Ross, Ralph and Manny, and Ralph's son Jonas, also Ross's godson, would meet in Yuma to try and decide a way find Martin, to capture him and hopefully take him back to Yuma for a trial. Jonas and Manny had been in Yuma together as partners in The Palace Hotel for years. No one they knew had come forward to say with certainty where Martin had gone. Jonas and Manny were determined to find him, and so were Ralph and Ross.

In his youth, Jonas had worked for the U.S. Army as a tracker in southeastern Arizona Territory. He had participated in the recapture of several Apache leaders who, from time to time, fled the confines of the reservation. Their need to hunt, to gather horses from those who had them, in Mexico or the U.S., to battle with the Mexicans or Americans was almost a genetic trait. His job was to help the army track them down and bring them back to the reservation. He was a veteran of several skirmishes with Apache warriors, and had taken life in those fights.

He left home shortly before his seventeenth birthday, not long after his mother passed away, and went to work for the Army as a mere lad. His education included harsh treatment by soldiers, settlers and natives as well. Eventually he tired of the cycle of drinking, fighting, collecting wages at the start of each month and beginning the cycle again. His timing was fortuitous because Ralph and Ross were ready to retire from the operation of the Palace. He took to the business operation, being trained by Ross, Flora and Ralph, like a duck to water, and operated the place with help from Manny. For several years Jonas had worked together with Manny, as partners, operating the Palace Hotel and Saloon. If Ralph and Ross could not depend on Jonas to be the tracker they would ask if Manuel Esquerra, a foreman at Ross and Flora's ranch, felt well enough to work with them again, but they fully expected Jonas to be with them.

Both Ross and Ralph had been living in Sonora, Mexico since 1908. Both had longed to work the land for many years. Ross and his wife Flora owned a small ranch on which they ran a few head of cattle and farmed several exotic crops Flora decided might flourish in Mexico. As she thought it would happen, when water was applied to the soil of their ranch, it would grow almost anything. Ross and Flora grew some melons they sold in the Mercado (marketplace) of the little town they lived in southeast of San Luis Potosi', Sonora, Mexico, ran some range cattle, and grew many other small crops.

They grew asparagus, a strange desert crop to say the least, along with some corn. The asparagus, which was more like a weed than a garden plant, once started was difficult to kill. They loved it in salads, pan fried or steamed. There were many ways to cook it. The garden bearing the asparagus was not large enough to grow a sufficient amount to sell, but it grew enough for them to eat, and to be able to give some to their campesinos and vaqueros (workers on the ranch). The campesinos thought Ross and Flora strange when it came to the asparagus, but their thoughts didn't stop them from eating it given the opportunity. With a little freshly churned butter it was superb and a fine staple to the normal diets of all on the Rancho Flora.

Ralph and his wife, Carmella, lived in Sonora as well, but a little farther south than Ross and Flora. They too ran a herd of cattle, slightly larger than Ross and Flora kept, and sold part of their herd in Hermosillo, the capital of the state of Sonora, every year. Occasionally they provided beef to some of the forces of Pancho Villa during the initial stages of the revolution which racked Mexico for so long. They grew basic corn crops which provided food for their campesinos and vaqueros. Ralph and Carmella paid fair wages to their campesinos as well as their vaqueros (meaning wranglers more or less). Both Ralph and Carmella were well respected by the people of the area in which they lived, largely Yaqui natives and their descendants, and were left alone by all the revolutionaries. Ross and Flora lived far enough away from the cities to be immune from the influences of the warring factions in the revolution.

The early conversation as the two met on the trail once again was all about Manny and his wife Janie. Ross, never a bitter man, was saddened by her death. Ralph, having encountered tragedy in the life of his first wife and his daughter, was more inclined to be angry toward the Martin boy. Both Ross and Ralph had something of an interest of their own in the capture of the Martin lad. Ross had killed the boy's father many years in the past. Ralph had killed the boy's uncle.

The boy's father had been a ne'er do well Robert had never known. Ross killed the man while on a trek to Yuma in 1878. The elder Martin had robbed a stage, had his horse shot and was seeking to steal all Ross's “possibles” including Ross's horse. Ross had been a better shot than Martin. Later, after two failed attempts to kill Ross in Welton and in the desert between Welton and Yuma, Ralph had killed the boy's uncle when the uncle was about to kill Ross. The shooting occurred in Yuma when, at the time, Ralph was Sheriff of Yuma County. Robert, before shooting Janie, had tried to assault Manny and failed, but threatened Manny based on the killing of his father and his uncle voicing a desire for revenge.

Ross and Ralph were dressed very similarly. Each wore dark trousers which defied a name or a label, not denims but perhaps a wool blend. Both men wore a light-colored shirt, and though perhaps at one time the shirts had been white, repeated use and repeated washing had created some off-white color tinged during their ride with brown as the dust kicked up by the horses imbedded itself into the fabric.

Both wore a vest with nothing in its pockets. Both wore what could have been a suit coat at one time, dark in color but heavily colored by the time they reached the area of San Luis Potosi' in the dust of the trail. Both wore a duster which had long ago lost its color of white and settled into something close to the color of the desert. Both sported wide brimmed hats keeping most of their face and neck shaded much of the day.

Both men rode loosely, comfortably, in the saddles they had occupied for what seemed most of their lives. Both men were weighted with pistols which, in part, long ago they had taken from others whose missions against them failed. Ross still carried two Colt Peacemaker pistols which he had taken from the body of George Martin, in fact.

They did not expect any trouble, but if it came they were still more than able to deal with it even though both were getting a little long in the tooth at sixty-eight years of age. Though guns worn openly were unusual in those changing times they thought them necessary in the circumstances. Whatever restrictions they might encounter in San Luis Potosi' or Yuma they would deal with when they arrived in those communities. Both carried at least one rifle in scabbards mounted along the right side of their horse's bodies.

Ross carried two rifles. One was a fifteen shot Henry repeating rifle and the other was a Sharps single shot rolling block fifty-six caliber buffalo gun which was accurate to well over five hundred yards. The Sharps was equipped with a scope and a tripod for long range shooting. Ralph carried his own Henry repeating rifle. There were more modern weapons available to either of them if they had chosen to acquire newer guns, but those they carried had been dependable in the most dangerous of circumstances. Neither saw any reason to look to the more modern “automatic” pistols seemingly so popular. Both carried so called “hideout” guns in special holsters in their boots. These were two shot Derringers which many men and women had carried throughout the history of the west.

There was no talk among them about the weapons they carried. Even though it was 1910 it was as natural for these men to carry guns and rifles as it was for them to breathe. They both had been born in northeast Texas in a time when revolution and war with natives was commonplace. The little youth they were given had more to do with monthly incursions by Comanches and the war of aggression (Civil War elsewhere) than it did with anything else. Hand guns and rifles, were an extension of their personalities, always with them, always on them.

Their lives had never known a time after about year ten when weapons had not been carried. Nothing had changed for them about the need to be armed in wild country. There were still bandits roaming the deserts of the Southwest and even an occasional wild and free native would go on a rampage. Though they did not expect to use the weapons for anything, except maybe to kill some game for a meal, they were prepared to and both were fully capable of using them to devastating effect in any situation.

There was no talk among them about what would happen when and if they finally captured the Martin boy. Either he would die or he would be brought back to Yuma to face a judge and a jury. They both would prefer he be captured and brought in front of a jury. They had no desire to kill the boy. Manny might feel, most likely did feel as though he would want the young man dead, but they had not spoken with Manny yet. The passage of time would bear answers to their questions, their unknown future.

In a sense, it was not really their fight, except it was their son and godson who had been wronged by the actions of the young Martin boy. Because Martin had shot at Manny, killing Manny's wife and unborn child, they were ready and willing to do anything they could to bring about justice in the situation. In the first instance justice meant to them the boy should be captured and put into the Arizona State Prison, but they would wait until they arrived in Yuma to decide the issue, if it could be decided. Neither Ross nor Ralph thought of their trek to help Manny as being an assignation with revenge in any sense at all.

The country through which they rode, the northern part of the Sonoran Desert, was very dry, had very few trees, little or no shade sufficient to stop in and rest their animals. They took breaks, they gave the animals water and a little feed they had brought with them. They traveled lightly, with a rope tied to the pommel of the saddle with a pigging string. They had a bedroll on behind the saddle and saddlebags that carried necessary items like ammunition, jerky, hardtack, pemmican, some grain for the horses, some changes of socks and underwear and a few items to be used for drinking coffee or eating if they managed to shoot some game along their way.

They walked with the horses from time to time to rest them to a degree. They sat in the shade of a tree with the horses if one became available and let the horses graze on anything which was edible around the tree. These horses were accustomed to their riders, and the horses were accustomed to being treated well out on the range. The respect and care they took of their horses was second nature to both.

The nature of the country they traveled through would not change again until they crossed the U.S. border and headed toward Yuma. The trip could be shortened a bit when they went into the U.S. by cutting across the badlands between the Colorado River and Yuma, but they would stay close to the river bank to enhance their water supply for the horses. It would lengthen the ride by about a day but theirs was a trip with no time requirements. Even though the trip was brought about by an unspeakable tragedy in the murder of Janie the desert, the necessities of care being given to and used with their animals did not change.

There was no urgency in the notes they had received, no sense imparted their arrival needed to occur within the speediest time possible. Had there been a message to hurry as fast as they could they would have ridden to Tombstone and caught a stage which would take them across the desert from station to station. Even then the likelihood of their arriving in Yuma prior to the burial of Manny's wife was not very high. Yuma was far enough away from where both Ralph and Ross lived so no rapid basis existed for the two of them to get to Yuma.

Manny and Jonas needed time to ready the business of the Palace Hotel and Saloon for their absence under any circumstance. Ross and Ralph knew setting up the business to enable the pursuit of Martin was a necessity since they had run the same establishment in years past. Aside from the reasons for their trek they were enjoying the chance to spend time together in a peaceful moment of their lives. Many of the times they had shared in the past were tumultuous, enjoyable but fraught with danger in most cases.

Both Ross and Ralph were 68 years of age, but neither appeared to have worn his years badly. Both appeared to be and in fact were in good health. Both were tall men. Ralph was near to six feet in height and Ross was slightly taller at about six feet two inches tall. The years had never caused them to stoop or bend over. Neither of them carried much more weight at 68 than they had at 35 or 40 in the times when they first met.

Their faces were weathered to be sure. There were lines which had grown deeper and longer as the years passed, but both men appeared, except for a few additional lines in their faces, to be much younger than their actual years. These were hard men in exterior, hard men in response to being personally attacked, but men of great emotion, who held great love for those in their families.