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  THE DEVIL’S BONEYARD

  A BEN SAVAGE, SALOON RANGER 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

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  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: 978-0-7860-4591-4

  Electronic edition:

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4592-1 (e-book)

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-4592-2 (e-book)

  CHAPTER 1

  “It ain’t every day the warden comes down here to say good-bye to a prisoner who’s served his time,” guard Roland Thomas said. “Out the front door, too, instead of the gate where most of the other inmates walk out.” He had been inspired to comment when they saw Warden Mathew Wheeler waiting by the front door of the main prison administration building.

  Malcolm Hazzard was very much aware of that fact, but he was not surprised to see the warden. He had participated in many heart-to-heart talks with Warden Wheeler about the paths in life that lead men to evil endings. Hazzard was fortunate to have been incarcerated in the Texas State Prison at a time when Wheeler was warden. “I praise the Lord that they sent me to this prison where a Christian man was in charge, a man who was dedicated to saving the souls of those who had strayed to do the work of the devil.” He looked at the guard and smiled. “I wish that you had come to some of our prayer meetings. It might have enlightened your soul. I hope you’ll consider doin’ that sometime.”

  Thomas chuckled. “I don’t know about that, Hazzard. Don’t know if they’ll even keep it up after you’ve gone.” Like most of the other guards, he wasn’t totally convinced that Malcolm Hazzard had truly been saved. He had to allow, however, that Hazzard wouldn’t be the first inmate who decided to walk the straight and narrow after serving his time. In Hazzard’s case, it had resulted in an early release after serving only five years of a fifteen-year sentence. But Thomas was convinced that Hazzard had played the warden like a fiddle. For the warden’s sake, he hoped Hazzard continued to walk the straight path after he left there.

  “Well, Malcolm, the big day has finally come,” the warden said as he walked to meet Hazzard, his hand outstretched. “I wanted to be here to walk out that door with you to the first day of the rest of your life. I feel like you are the perfect example of what can be accomplished to rehabilitate an inmate during his prison sentence. I think I can count on you to make our work here at Huntsville proud.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Malcolm replied humbly. “I have you to thank for putting me on the right path for the rest of my life and I hope to bring the Word of the Lord to as many miserable and confused souls as I can.” He glanced down at the Bible he was carrying. “I know I have my guide to rely on. And I know, if a miserable soul like mine can be shown the true light, then there’s hope for everyone. I only hope you know how grateful I am to you for helping me see that light.”

  Wheeler smiled, pleased. “We can all be beacons of light for the unsaved. I know you will be a powerful servant of the Lord.” He nodded toward Roland Thomas, and Thomas went to the door and held it open as the warden and Hazzard walked through. “God be with you, Malcolm.”

  “And with you and the staff here at the prison,” Hazzard responded.

  As soon as they stepped outside, Hazzard was hailed by two men waiting in the street in front of the prison building. They were holding the reins of three saddled horses, as well as lead ropes for two packhorses. Malcolm returned their greetings and briefly explained to Wheeler that one of them, the heavyset man with the dark beard and the ill-fitting morning coat, was his brother, Ormond. The man with him was a family friend by the name of Pete Russell. When he read the question in the warden’s eyes, he said, “I know they’re rough-lookin’ men, but that’s just because they’re hardworking men of the soil. But rest assured they’re God-fearin’ men who have encouraged me to keep my faith durin’ these years I’ve spent inside these walls.”

  Wheeler hesitated but decided there was no point in having second thoughts based on the appearance of the men who came to meet Malcolm. “It’s not important what we look like on the outside,” he declared. “It’s what’s written in a man’s heart that counts.”

  “Amen, Warden,” Malcolm replied, turned and walked down the steps to the street where he was greeted in rugged fashion, with a hug from his brother and some backslapping from Pete Russell.

  “Come on, Reverend,” brother Ormond japed. “I brought you a gray geldin’, just like the one they shot out from under you fi
ve years ago.” He stood back and grinned while he watched Malcolm climb up into the saddle. “I swear, I gotta admit, I didn’t think you’d pull it off.”

  “Well, it sure as hell weren’t easy,” Malcolm remarked, “but I’da done it for another five years, if it didn’t get me out but one day short of my sentence.” He jerked the gray’s head around and gave it a kick of his heels. “Come on, let’s get the hell outta here before they change their minds.” Feeling his freedom, he kicked the gray into a gallop on the Madisonville road until well out of sight of Huntsville before he slowed the horse down to a walk. Then he threw his Bible as far as he could sling it into the woods beside the road.

  “Yee haw!” Ormond responded when he saw the Bible flying into the bushes. In like fashion, he pulled the morning coat off and threw it as well. Unable to fling the coat as far as Malcolm threw the Bible, he settled for a throw that left it hanging on a tree branch right beside the road. “I stole that coat just so I’d look like a preacher when we picked you up,” he told Malcolm. “It was about two sizes too small.”

  “I’m gonna need to go somewhere to get some clothes,” Malcolm said, “boots, hat, ridin’ clothes, a weapon, too. Did you bring me money for everything I need?”

  “Like I told you when I came to see you last month,” Ormond answered. “I’ve been saving you a share outta every job we’ve done. Your money’s in the saddlebags of that saddle you’re settin’ on. It oughta be enough to fix you up. We can ride over to Bryan. It’s a good-sized town now and it ain’t but about forty miles from here.”

  “Bryan?” Malcolm repeated. “I’ve heard the guards talk about Madisonville and it’s only twenty miles from here. Let’s go there.”

  Ormond looked at Pete and they both grinned. “Rather not,” Ormond said. “That’s where I stole the coat. Better off goin’ to Bryan. We ain’t had no dealin’s with anybody there, but the saloon. And there weren’t no trouble there. We’ve been kinda layin’ low for the last six months around this part of Texas, waitin’ for you to get out.”

  When they came to a crossroad, Ormond pulled his horse to a stop. “This here is the trail to Bryan.” He looked at Malcolm to see if he was going to insist on continuing to Madisonville. When he did not, Ormond turned onto the trail heading west. They rode on for a few minutes before Ormond commented. “Reckon you’re wantin’ to head on down to Giddings after you get fixed up with some clothes.”

  “I reckon,” Malcolm said. Giddings was the town where their younger brother, William, was killed by a deputy sheriff. The determination to seek vengeance for his brother’s death was the driving force that enabled him to maintain his religious charade for so long. During the long dreary days, locked in a two-man cell, it was all he would think about, a chance to see that deputy sheriff beyond the front sight of his. 44. William was only fifteen when he was gunned down in the middle of the street in their foiled attempt to rob the Houston & Texas Central Railroad in Giddings.

  His mind raced back to that day. Unknown to Malcolm, his two brothers, and Pete Russell, they picked the very day a big money shipment was on the train, meant for a bank in Houston. There were half a dozen guards escorting that money shipment to Houston. When Malcolm and the others saw the reception awaiting them in the mail car, they made a run for it, and all four of them might have gotten away but for a local deputy sheriff. He had no connections with the railroad. He was just a deputy sheriff who happened to be in a position to take a shot at the fleeing outlaws. The image was still vivid in Malcolm’s mind, of the four of them galloping hell-bent-for-leather away from the railroad station, the angry snap of bullets passing all around them. Pete Russell was in the lead, with Malcolm and Ormond right behind him. His younger brother, William, was bringing up the rear.

  They were clear of the railroad agents’ fire when they reached the main street. It was then that he heard the shot that knocked William out of the saddle. He couldn’t see where the shot had come from, but he pulled his horse to a stop, with not much time to pick up his brother. Wheeling the gray gelding around, Malcolm looked down at his brother, just long enough to know William was dead. He gave the gray his heels again at the same instant the willing horse was cut down by rifle fire from a shopkeeper. When his horse stumbled, Malcolm was thrown from the saddle to land on his back, the wind knocked out of him. The thoughts burned bitter in his mind when he remembered lying helpless in the street, covered by two of the merchants wielding shotguns. Ormond and Pete were already out the end of the street. And had it not been for one lucky shot from the deputy sheriff, he and William would have been with them.

  Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he responded to Ormond’s question. “Yeah, goin’ back to Giddings is my number one priority. A feller I talked to in prison is from Giddings and he told me that deputy’s name is Mack Bragg. And I’ve been seein’ that name in my sleep at night.” He felt both Ormond and Pete staring at him, so he turned to look at them. “First, I’m gonna need to get acquainted with a six-gun again. I don’t wanna take any chances. I wanna be ready when I find that lowdown backshooter.” A question that had often come to his mind came to him again at this point. Looking at his brother, he asked, “How come you ain’t tellin’ me that Mack Bragg is already dead?”

  “Because he ain’t in Giddings no more.” Ormond was quick to defend his lack of retaliation against his brother’s killer. “We sure as hell couldn’t go near the town for over a year in case somebody recognized us, even if we did have our bandannas tied over our faces.” He looked at Pete for confirmation.

  “That’s a fact, Malcolm,” Pete backed him up. “But we did go back into town one night and asked the bartender at the Cotton Gin Saloon if he’d seen that deputy in there lately.”

  Ormond interrupted. “He told us he weren’t a deputy in Giddings no more. Said he’d moved on, but he didn’t know where he mighta lit.”

  “Damn,” Malcolm uttered. This was news he hadn’t expected to hear, and he had to take a few moments to decide what to do. The killing of Mack Bragg was something that had to be taken care of. It was almost all he had thought about for the last five years. “An eye for an eye,” he recited from his prison Bible sessions. William had not even participated in the actual robbery attempt. He only held the horses for his older brothers and Pete. “We’ll go to Giddings, anyway,” he decided. “That’s the only place we’ve got to start from. Somebody there might know where Bragg went after he left there. We’ll just have to be careful who we talk to and make sure nobody recognizes us.” Then it occurred to him. “You two are gonna have to make sure nobody gets a good look at you. I don’t have to hide. I’ve served my sentence.”

  “Like I just told you,” Ormond said, “nobody recognized me and Pete when we came back here. As long as we stay away from the train depot, we ought not have to worry.” So, with that decision made, they continued on the road to Bryan, some forty miles away.

  * * *

  After one stop to rest their horses, the three men rode into Bryan and went straight to Riker’s Saloon to get a bite to eat as well as to satisfy Malcolm’s powerful urge for a drink of whiskey, after doin’ without for so long. “Ain’t seen you boys in here in a while,” the bartender said, talking to Ormond. As far as he could recall, he had never seen Malcolm.

  “That’s a fact,” Ormond replied. “We’ve been workin’ over toward San Antone. You still got a cook workin’ here?”

  “That I do,” the bartender said, “and it’s beef stew and biscuits tonight.”

  “That suits my taste,” Pete responded, quickly seconded by the Hazzard brothers.

  “Curly!” the bartender yelled. “You got three plates of stew out here.” Back to them, he said, “He’ll fix you up in a minute or two. You want coffee with that?” Getting three nods from them, he yelled again. “They’re wantin’ coffee with that.” Back to them again, he said, “My name’s Sid. I swear, I can’t remember your names.”

  “Good,” Malcolm responded. “We was hopin’ we�
��d run into a friend of ours. Mack Bragg, has he been in lately?” He had no particular reason to think Bragg was in Bryan, but he figured he might as well ask.

  “Can’t say,” Sid answered. “If he has, he didn’t give his name.” When Malcolm nodded, Sid said, “’Course, we ain’t the only saloon in town.”

  After supper, they rode out of town but stopped as soon as they came to a creek. They made camp for the night there, since Malcolm wanted to buy some new clothes before going on to Giddings. With only a little bit of daylight remaining, he used it to practice with the Colt .44 Ormond had brought him. Pete and Ormond stood by watching as Malcolm sought to become closely acquainted with the handgun. After a box of cartridges was emptied into trees at various distances, Malcolm declared himself ready. Accuracy was his goal with his new firearm as opposed to fast-draw expertise, for he had no thoughts toward a fast-draw showdown. He planned to simply catch Bragg by surprise and assassinate him without warning. But it was important to him that Bragg should know who it was that killed him and why.

  The next morning, they were at the general merchandise store when it opened for business. Malcolm was soon fitted out with pants and shirt, plus a vest, and a hat. He could not find boots to fit, so he had to continue to wear his prison work shoes and hope to find boots in another town. Feeling more comfortable to be out of prison issue, he started breaking in his new clothes on the fifty-mile trip to Giddings.

  Unique among Texas towns for its extra wide streets, Giddings served to impress Malcolm with its obvious growth since he had last been there. When they rode into town late in the afternoon, he saw nearly double the number of shops and businesses. One in particular caught his eye, the newly opened Bank of Lee County. “When we’re finished here,” he said to Ormond, “I expect we’d do well to stop by the bank and draw out some money. We need to get back in business.”