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  AVAILABLE FROM PINNACLE BOOKS

  SHOT TO HELL

  A PERLEY GATES WESTERN

  WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE

  and J. A. Johnstone

  PINNACLE BOOKS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 J. A. Johnstone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  PINNACLE BOOKS, the Pinnacle logo, and the WWJ steer head logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7860-4368-2

  Electronic edition:

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4369-9 (e-book)

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-4369-5 (e-book)

  CHAPTER 1

  “I’ll sit down and have a cup of coffee with you,” Rachael Parker said to her husband, “now that we’re not so busy.” She filled his cup and poured one for herself, then sat down at the table with him after she returned the pot to the stove. “What’s the occasion for this unexpected visit? I’m surprised Rooster let you come into town by yourself.”

  Tom laughed. “He didn’t. He’s down at Wheeler’s gettin’ a few things we needed to finish fixin’ the roof on that shack of his. I told him he could come and get somethin’ to eat here, but he said he’d druther not. Said he’d get somethin’ to eat at the Buffalo Hump. Said the hotel dinin’ room was a little too fancy for him.” Tom laughed again just thinking about the odd little man who worked with him at the farm. “Said he’s gonna get him some of that meatloaf Ida makes.”

  Rachael shook her head and commented, “It’s a wonder he ain’t dead as much as he eats in that saloon. There’s no telling what that woman mixes up in that meatloaf.”

  “Rooster says it’s that heapin’ portion of gunpowder she mixes in with it, that and the hot pepper, that gives it a kick,” Tom said with another chuckle. “Probably not the same recipe Bess uses here in the fancy hotel dinin’ room.”

  “I don’t know if Bess even has a recipe for meat loaf,” Rachael said. “If she does, she hasn’t sprung it on us yet.” She smiled at her husband, grateful that he had not fought her on her ambitious partnership with her sister. The hotel that Emma had built, with money that she and Possum Smith had acquired, already showed signs of success. And Rachael was especially proud of the dining room’s apparent acceptance, since that was her part of the partnership. Although at first, Tom was not in favor of the two women trying to run a hotel and dining room, Rachael believed he was actually very proud of her. He seemed content with the situation as it now stood. He worked every day with Rooster Crabb on the farm but came to the hotel at the end of the day, having supper and then breakfast the next morning before going back to work. It seemed to be working out for them.

  “Here you go, Tom,” Kitty Lowery sang out when she placed his plate on the table before him. “When I told Bess it was for you, she put an extra piece of cornbread on it. She knows how you love cornbread.” The cheerful young woman suddenly sprouted a deep frown when she glanced toward the door. “Uh-oh,” she muttered. “Here comes some more of Ned Stark’s men. Looks like you’re gonna have to remind them about the rule, Rachael.”

  Rachael released a tired sigh and got to her feet. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, then hurried to intercept the two men. “You fellows looking for some dinner?” Rachael made a point to speak politely.

  Curly Williams paused while he looked her up and down before responding. “Yes, ma’am, and anything else you’re sellin’.”

  Ignoring the obvious insult, Rachael maintained her polite reception. “You gentlemen probably missed the sign that requests you leave your firearms on the table by the door. So, if you’ll leave those pistols on the table, I’d be happy to have you eat with us.”

  “I’d like to see somebody try to take my gun from me,” Quirt Taylor replied.

  “I’m afraid that’s one of the rules we have in the hotel dining room,” Rachael said. “It’s for the comfort of the other customers, so if you don’t want to leave your weapons on the table, we refuse to serve you.”

  “I say to hell with your damn rules,” Curly spat. “They don’t apply to us.” He took a step to the side, preparing to walk past her, but she stepped to block him. “You’d best get the hell outta my way, woman.” Rachael shook her head and pointed to the weapons table by the door.

  Watching the confrontation from his table, Tom decided he had heard enough of the crude affront to his wife. He got to his feet and walked up beside Rachael. “You boys got a lotta rough bark on you, ain’tcha? I expect it’s been a while since you’ve talked to a respectable woman, so you most likely don’t know any better. Look around in here. You don’t see anybody else wearin’ a gun, do you? So who do you think is gonna shoot you?” He pointed to the weapons table. “Just leave your weapons on that table and they’ll be right there when you finish eatin’
.”

  Curly didn’t say anything for a long moment while he eyed Tom up and down. When he finally spoke, he offered a suggestion. “Why don’t you stick that table where the sun don’t shine?”

  “I think you’d better leave,” Rachael said.

  “To hell with ’em,” Quirt Taylor said, noticing that everyone in the dining room was staring at them. “We don’t wanna eat this crap they serve in here, anyway.” He took hold of Curly’s elbow and pulled him toward the door. Aside to him, he muttered low, “Ned don’t want us to stir up no trouble with the town folks. They’ll be hollerin’ for the sheriff.”

  “Let ’em holler,” Curly blurted defiantly, but he allowed himself to be pulled out the door, knowing Quirt was right. Ned had a working arrangement with Sheriff John Mason, an arrangement that was beneficial to both Ned and Mason.

  Rachael took Tom by the arm and walked him back to his table. “Now, don’t get all upset about that. They just make a lot of noise, and I don’t want you getting yourself to worrying about me.” She sat back down at the table while he finished eating.

  “I just don’t like people talkin’ to you like that,” Tom said.

  “I know,” she said and gave him a little peck on his cheek. “But don’t worry yourself about that bunch that works for Ned Stark. They don’t usually show up here at the hotel. They eat at the Buffalo Hump. I don’t know how those two wandered in here today, but they’re gone, so that’s the end of that.”

  “I reckon I’d best go get Rooster,” he said. “He oughta be about through eatin’ his meatloaf by now. I’d like to finish up that roof before supper tonight. If I’m a little late, you’ll know Rooster had too much liquid refreshments with his dinner.”

  “If you’re late, I’ll keep a plate in the oven for you,” she said as she walked him to the door.

  * * *

  There was a pretty good crowd in the Buffalo Hump for this time of day. That was usually the indication that a cattle herd was passing nearby on its way to market, but it was not the time of the year for cattle drives. Most likely a lot more drifters were attracted to the little town of Bison Gap, Tom thought. He paused just inside the door and looked at Jimmy McGee behind the bar. Jimmy nodded to him and pointed toward a small table in the back corner of the saloon. Tom returned the nod to Jimmy and walked back to the table where Rooster was hunched over a plate of food. “Gunpowder meatloaf?” Tom asked.

  “Nah, beef stew,” Rooster answered. “She didn’t make no meatloaf today.”

  “You ’bout ready to get on back and finish that roof? You don’t wanna have another rain catch you before it’s done.”

  “I’m finished,” Rooster declared and pushed the plate away from him. “The tar and stuff’s in the wagon. I parked it around back. Lemme pay Jimmy on the way out.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, released a loud belch, and followed Tom to the bar.

  “Well, lookee here,” Curly Williams said and immediately got up on his feet, “if it ain’t that jasper from the hotel.”

  Quirt Taylor turned to see where Curly was looking. “Damned if it ain’t,” he said. Then, when Curly headed for the bar where Tom was waiting for Rooster to settle up with Jimmy, Quirt called after him. “What are you fixin’ to do?”

  “Just wanna say ‘howdy’ to our friend from the hotel,” Curly answered. When Rooster was finished, Tom turned to leave, only to come face-to-face with the man he had confronted in the dining room. “Howdy, Tater Head,” Curly said. “What you doin’ runnin’ around without that little woman to protect you? Don’t you know we got rules in this saloon, just like you’ve got rules in that dinin’ room?” Tom wasn’t prepared to confront the two drifters. He hadn’t noticed them sitting at a small table beyond the end of the long bar. Curly didn’t wait to hear his response and continued to press him. “I notice you’re wearin’ a gun now, so I’ll tell you about the rules we got in here. If a man’s wearin’ a gun, he better be ready to use it. Else, he ain’t no man a-tall. So I’m fixin’ to let you show us you’re man enough to wear that gun in here with all us men. Whaddaya say, Tater Head?”

  “I say you’re just tryin’ to make trouble for no good reason a-tall,” Tom answered, having no intention to respond to the bully’s challenge. “You ready, Rooster?” He stepped aside and started to walk around Curly, but the determined bully quickly stepped in front of him.

  “You ain’t walkin’ outta here till I say you can,” Curly said, much to his partner’s amusement.

  “Make him crawl outta here on his hands and knees,” Quirt encouraged.

  “All right,” Tom said. “You’ve had your fun with me, but I ain’t havin’ a duel with you just so you can entertain your friend. So I’ll be leavin’ now.” He looked back at Rooster, who was looking undecided as to what he should do. “Come on, Rooster.” When he turned back again, it was to find Curly, right up in his face, the mocking grin gone from his face, replaced by a grim, threatening glare.

  “You’ll go when I say you can go,” Curly warned him, his voice almost a growl. “Now, you ask me real polite-like, ‘Please, Mr. Williams, can I crawl outta here, like the yellow-bellied dog I am?’” All talking in the saloon stopped when everybody became aware of the confrontation between the two.

  “You can go to hell,” Tom responded.

  Rooster, still uncertain what he should do, dropped his hand down to rest on the handle of his pistol. That was as far as he got before Quirt caught his eye and shook his head to warn him, his smirk conveying a message that he hoped Rooster would test him. With no choice but to watch, he lifted his hand and looked back in time to see Tom take a step backward. What followed next left Rooster gasping in disbelief. Curly drew his six-gun and fired. Tom doubled over, shot in the stomach. He dropped to his knees while fumbling to find his pistol before Curly put the fatal shot in his forehead.

  The silence in the saloon was deafening, broken only by the sound of Tom’s body as it keeled over to land on the floor. Rooster pushed past Quirt to rush to Tom’s side, but one look told him Tom was gone. He glared up accusingly at Curly, who responded with a smug grin. “He shouldn’ta tried for it,” Curly said, loud enough for the benefit of everyone in the saloon. “He made that move for his gun, but I was too fast for him.”

  “That’s a fact,” Quirt confirmed, equally as loud. “I seen him go for that gun. Everybody did.” He looked around at the still speechless spectators to see if anyone had the guts to disagree. No one did until Jimmy McGee finally said someone should go fetch the sheriff.

  “I’ll go,” Rooster volunteered and hurried out the door, intent upon getting the sheriff there before Curly and Quirt decided to ride out of town. Hurrying across the open area between the jail and the saloon, he met the sheriff coming out the door of his office.

  “I heard the shots,” Sheriff Mason said. “What happened?” He was already aware that Curly Williams and Quirt Taylor were in town, and he was hoping it had nothing to do with either of them.

  “Curly Williams shot Tom Parker down!” Rooster answered. “Shot him down in cold blood, murdered him!”

  “I’ll take care of it,” the sheriff assured him and hurried along to the saloon. He went in the door, with Rooster right on his heels, to find everyone in the saloon still standing and staring at Tom’s body, most of them in disbelief. He looked at once to Curly and Quirt, standing at the bar, the only customers casually having a drink of whiskey. “Curly?” Mason asked.

  “Yep, I done it, Sheriff,” Curly freely confessed. “He didn’t give me no choice. When I saw him reach for that forty-four he’s carryin’, I had to go for mine. I reckon this was my lucky day, ’cause it turned out I was faster’n him.”

  “That’s a fact, Sheriff,” Quirt immediately attested. “I saw the whole thing. I was standin’ right there beside ’em. That feller made out like he was fixin’ to leave and then he reached for that gun. Look there, he got it halfway outta his holster. He came in here lookin’ for me and Curly. We was in the dinin’ room
at the hotel a little while ago and there was words between him and Curly. That feller didn’t like the way Curly talked to the lady that runs the place, and I reckon he decided to come after Curly when we walked outta there peaceful.”

  “That’s a damn lie!” Rooster blurted. “Tom Parker ain’t never drew down on anybody. Everybody in this town can tell you that.” He looked at the sheriff in desperation. “Hell, you know that, Sheriff.” He pointed a finger at Curly. “He tried to get Tom to draw, but Tom wouldn’t do it—told him he wouldn’t do it—so that feller shot him down!” Rooster ignored the menacing warnings on the faces of Curly and Quirt, to plead with Mason. Then a thought struck him that something else didn’t look right and it occurred to him what it was. “When I left here to go get you, Tom’s gun wasn’t halfway outta his holster like that. They musta done that!” He glared up at them.

  “Just calm down, Rooster,” the sheriff told him. “Anybody else actually see what happened?”

  No one volunteered except the bartender. “I think it happened the way Rooster said it did,” Jimmy said.

  “I was standin’ between him and the bartender,” Quirt declared. “There ain’t no way he coulda seen him reach for that gun, but I saw him when he done it.”

  There was no doubt in anyone’s mind, including the sheriff’s, that Rooster’s version was what had actually happened there. And he was not happy with the situation that two of Ned Stark’s men had created. “Tom Parker was a good man,” Mason began, “but sometimes any man can get to thinkin’ dangerous things, things that they wouldn’t normally do. I don’t see how this could be looked at in any way other than an unfortunate thing, but it is a case of self-defense, pure and simple. We’re all sad to see Tom Parker go this way.” He turned to address Curly. “I expect it would be best if you boys get on your horses and ride on outta town.”

  Curly started to object to the suggestion, but Quirt stepped in before he could say anything. “Yes, sir, Sheriff, we don’t want no trouble, we’re goin’.” He grabbed Curly by his elbow and pulled him toward the door.