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  AVAILABLE FROM PINNACLE BOOKS

  BULLET FOR A STRANGER

  A RED RYAN 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 One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  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: 978-0-7860-4436-8

  Electronic edition:

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4437-5 (e-book)

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-4437-3 (e-book)

  Chapter One

  “So, tell me,” Patrick “Buttons” Muldoon said, “when we reach Fort Concho, what do you calculate the Limey coward will look like?”

  Shotgun guard Red Ryan’s gaze was fixed on the vast sweep of the Texas prairie ahead of the Abe Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company coach. Without turning to look at Buttons, he said, “I have no idea. But I guess he’ll look like anybody else.”

  Buttons had slowed the six-horse team to a walk, and the only sound was the steady fall of the horses’ hooves and the jingle of harness. The sky was bright blue, with no clouds, but the wind blowing from the north held an edge, a harbinger of the coming fall.

  Buttons spat over the side of the stage, the ribbons steady in his gloved hands, and said, “I mean, will he be scared of his own shadow? One of them rannies who wear white drawers because they’ll never know when they’ll need a white flag?”

  “You mean is he kissin’ kin to Moses Rose?” Red said.

  Buttons grinned, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Then I don’t know,” Red said.

  Buttons seemed disappointed. “Hell, Red, you don’t know nothing.”

  “I don’t know the answer to a conundrum that don’t make any sense,” Red said. “How do I know what the hell the coward will be like?”

  “Yeah, well, we’re taking him all the way to New Orleans, so I guess we’ll find out, huh?” Buttons said. “Hell, we might find out the hard way. Maybe he’ll try to stab us in the back.”

  “Sure, and maybe along the trail he’ll haul off and do something cowardly,” Red said.

  “Man, that’s something I’d surely like to see,” Buttons said. “I ain’t never seen a coward do coward stuff, especially a Limey coward.”

  Red nodded. “Me neither. Now, quit talking for a minute and study on what that there blue thing is ahead of us.”

  “What blue thing? Oh, wait, I see it.” Buttons was silent for a few moments, peering into the distance. Then he said, “It’s blue and white, but I can’t make it out. A tent, maybe?”

  “Maybe. Whip up the horses,” Red Ryan said. “Let’s go find out.”

  “Keep the Greener handy,” Buttons said. “It may be some road agent trick that we ain’t seen yet.”

  “I reckon we’ve seen them all,” Red said. “But you never know.”

  Buttons snapped his whip above the team, and the horses lurched into a fast trot. “You’ve got younger eyes than me, Red, he said. “Can you make out what it is yet?”

  “Not yet. But I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

  * * *

  A large circle of blue and white striped canvas, much torn, spread across the prairie grass. Beside it were piled several leather trunks. A man and woman stood beside a battered wicker basket large enough to accommodate two people, and as Buttons Muldoon drove the stage nearer, the woman raised a hand and waved.

  “Hell, Red, it’s a gal and a Chinee with her,” Buttons said. “In all m
y born days I ain’t never seen the like.”

  “And she’s a right pretty gal at that,” Red said. His tanned cheeks bore a three-day growth of rusty beard and he wished he’d shaved.

  Buttons reined the team to a jangling halt and then raised his hat. “Well, howdy, young lady,” he said. “We weren’t expecting to meet company on this run. Nothing as far as the eye can see but grass, and even more grass.”

  Red smiled, showing his teeth. “He’s Buttons Muldoon, and my name is Red Ryan. We’re representatives of the Abe Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company, and we’re at your service.”

  The girl nodded. “Of course, you are. I’m Hannah Huckabee, and by profession I’m an adventuress. My companion is Mr. Chang.” Then, as though she thought an explanation necessary, “I saved his life from a street gang in Shanghai and he followed me home.” She had a very pleasing English accent.

  Hannah Huckabee, who looked to be in her late twenties, was a tall, slender woman with well-defined breasts and a narrow waist. She wore a tan-colored dress with plenty of flapped pockets that was short enough to reveal lace-up brown leather boots that were scuffed from hard use. A cascade of glossy black hair fell from under a pith helmet that sported a pair of dark-lensed goggles above the brim. Belted around her waist was a blue, short-barreled Colt with an ivory handle and on the opposite side a sheathed bowie knife of the largest size. A pair of expensive brass field glasses, probably of German manufacture, hung around her neck. Her eyes were a lustrous brown, the black lashes thick and long. When she smiled, as she was doing now, her teeth were very white . . . and Red Ryan thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

  Buttons Muldoon, ever a gentleman when he was around the ladies, said, “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but what are you and the Chinee gent doing all the way out here in the wilderness?”

  “Right now nothing, except being lost,” Hannah said. She smiled her dazzling smile. “And, of course, I’m also talking to you, driving man.”

  “He means how did you get here?” Red said.

  The girl pointed to the tattered canvas on the prairie grass. “Hanging from that in a basket is how we got here.” Then, reading the question on Red’s face. “What you see here are the remains of a hot-air balloon. It was my intention to explore the Caprock Canyons for signs of the culture that existed there ten thousand years ago. I mean pottery, spear points, and the like. You know, the usual archaeological stuff. Mr. Chang and I were also getting in some long-distance practice for our coming around-the-world balloon trip.”

  “Oh, I see,” Buttons said, trying to look wise, but he didn’t see at all.

  Neither did Red.

  “The Caprock Canyons are in the Panhandle country,” he said. “How come you ended up here?”

  Hannah Huckabee shrugged her slim shoulders. “We left the New Mexico Territory three days ago and then got hit by a most singular thunderstorm with a strong north wind and were blown off course. The balloon was ripped up, and Mr. Chang and I came down here. We landed pretty hard and were lucky to escape with only a few cuts and bruises. We could’ve been killed.”

  Mr. Chang bowed, then smiled and said, “We very lucky. Miss Huckabee very lucky lady. She prove that time and time again.”

  “Well, I’m glad you made it. Nice to meet you, Miss Huckabee,” Buttons said. He touched his hat brim and gathered the ribbons in his hands. “Now we got to be on our way, a schedule to keep and all that.”

  “Wait, where are you headed?” Hannah said.

  “East, to Fort Concho, ma’am. Got a coward to pick up from the army,” Buttons said.

  “A coward?” Hannah said.

  “Yeah, an Englishman.”

  “And where are you taking him, this coward?”

  “To the great city of New Orleans, ma’am, where we’re meeting up with a British warship that will take him back to London town to face justice for his cowardly deeds.”

  “I declare, it must be an important kind of coward that merits his own warship,” Hannah said.

  “I don’t know about that, ma’am, since I never picked up a coward afore,” Buttons said. Then, “But yeah, I guess he’s important enough.”

  “And he has this Abe Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company coach reserved just for him,” Red said. “Takes a mighty big auger to merit that kind of attention.”

  “Mr. Ryan—”

  “Call me Red.”

  “Red, Mr. Chang and I have had nothing to eat or drink for three days,” Hannah said. “Do you have any food to spare? We’ll be grateful for a few crumbs.”

  “Buttons?” Red said. “What do you say? Can we spare some grub?”

  “Ma’am, it’s against company regulations, but I guess we could spare some cold bacon, sourdough bread, and water,” Buttons said. “It ain’t much, but you’re welcome to make a trial of it.”

  “Right now, any food would be most welcome,” the woman said. “I can pay you in American money for what we eat.”

  “No payment needed,” Red said. “It’s the official policy of the Abe Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company to feed the hungry and clothe the poor and needy.”

  “I’ll get the grub,” Buttons said. He gave Red a sidelong look. “I never heard of that official policy.”

  “Neither have I,” Red said. “But I’m willing to bet that ol’ Abe Patterson has it wrote down in the rules somewhere.”

  * * *

  Ignoring Buttons’s reminder that they were burning daylight, Red spread a blanket on the grass and laid out a meager lunch, including a wedge of seedcake that his plump driver had seen fit not to mention.

  Hannah and Mr. Chang ate with an appetite that only three days of fasting can create, and to his chagrin Buttons watched the devouring of the bacon and bread and then the seedcake vanish to the last yellow crumb.

  “Ah, that was quite sufficient to restore me to good health,” the woman said, dabbing her lips with a scrap of handkerchief. “Once my balloon is replaced, Mr. Chang and I are off on our greatest adventure, but perhaps you will allow me to treat you gentlemen to dinner before we leave.”

  “Suits me just fine,” Red said. “And then you’ll head back to the Caprock Canyons, huh?” Red said.

  “Oh, dear no,” Hannah said. “That was to be just a side trip for the experience. I have something much more interesting in mind.”

  “Miss Huckabee have only interesting adventures,” Mr. Chang said. Then, smiling at Red, “That is her official policy.”

  “And what might that adventure be?” Buttons said. He looked sour, the sad fate of his seedcake nagging at him.

  “Mr. Muldoon, I’ve already told you. It’s our balloon flight around the world,” Hannah said. “I’m sure you’ve read the book, Le tour de Monde en Quatre-Vingts Jours, by Mr. Jules Verne.”

  Buttons shook his head. “Lady, I don’t even know what that means.”

  Hannah laughed, a sound like a ringing crystal bell, and Red Ryan thought it must be the sound the heavenly angels make when they hear a good joke. “It means Around the World in Eighty Days,” the woman said. “It’s about a gentleman called Phileas Fogg and his valet who travel around the world in a balloon, and it’s very popular both in this country and in Europe. I’m told Queen Victoria is fond of it and has read it through several times.”

  “Miss Huckabee meet Queen Victoria and like her very much,” Mr. Chang said. “And Queen Victoria like Miss Huckabee very much.”

  “We met only for afternoon tea,” Hannah said. “I didn’t attend one of her balls or anything like that, but she baked one of her special sponge cakes for the occasion.”

  “Queen Victoria very good baker,” Mr. Chang said.

  “And now you want to go around the world like that Fogg feller?” Red said.

  “Yes, I do. I don’t have a valet like Mr. Fogg, but I have Mr. Chang.” Hannah smiled. “Of course, I doubt that I’ll make the trip in eighty days, since a balloon depends on the vagaries of the wind,
and I will also need to employ other means of travel, like steam train and ship, but I’m an adventuress and I’m willing to give it a try. I do very much wish to sail in a balloon above the pyramids of Egypt and the temples of India and pay a return visit to Cathay and fly over the Great Wall.”

  Buttons looked confused. “Don’t that take a lot of money? I mean, to go gallivanting around the world like that in a flying machine?”

  “Oh, yes it does, Mr. Muldoon,” Hannah said. “But a late uncle left me a considerable fortune in his will, on the condition that I don’t agree to be some man’s dutiful little wife and stay home and become a drawing-room ornament. Uncle Chester was an adventurer who became rich pearl diving in the Philippines, where the pearls are said to be the finest in the world. Though he later went into the iron and steel business, it pleased him that I followed in his shoes and became an adventuress.”

  “Miss Huckabee’s uncle was very rich man, knew many powerful people,” Mr. Chang said. “President of America shake her hand, and Czar of Russia give her a kiss on the cheek.”

  “Yes, President Grant and uncle Chester were very close, as was millionaire Andrew Mellon,” Hannah said. “And of course, he counted the Czar of Russia among his friends, and he and the Chinese emperor corresponded regularly. Uncle Chester had a good singing voice and was very popular.”

  Hannah took a sip of water, slowly lowered the canteen, and said, “Red, stay right where you are. Don’t move a muscle.”

  Red sat with his arms behind him and didn’t have time to move a muscle because three events followed very fast . . .

  Hannah dropped the canteen, splashing water. An ominous rattle sounded close to Red’s right hand. And the girl drew her Colt and fired.

  Red yelped and jumped to his feet, his eyes wild. “What the hell?” he shouted. “Why did you shoot at me?”

  “Snake,” Hannah said. She held her revolver alongside her head, the muzzle pointing at the sky, trailing smoke. “I hate snakes. All adventurers hate snakes. They’re the bane of our existence, sly, slithering creatures that they are.”

  Red looked down at the big, headless diamondback coiling and uncoiling on the grass where he’d been sitting. “Damn, that son of a bitch could’ve killed me,” he said.