Devil's Kin

by Charles G. West

Genres: Action & Adventure; Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

Action-packed western adventure from the author of Crow Creek Crossing.

THE WRONGED SIDE OF THE LAW

Jordan Gray was hot on the trail of some killers when his wife and child needed him most. The very hardcases he was after rode right up to his home and murdered all those he held dear. Now, Jordan will ride the vengeance trail until he hunts down his family’s killers—even if it means becoming a vigilante.

But seeking justice is one thing—finding it is another. After the gang that murdered Jordan’s family robs a bank in Fort Smith, lawmen under the jurisdiction of “Hanging Judge” Parker set out to catch them swiftly and ruthlessly, but in a rush to judgment, the townsfolk mistake Jordan for one of the desperadoes. Caught in the middle, Jordan learns that he doesn’t have to take the law into his own hands to wind up a wanted man.

Release date: January 4, 2005

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 288

Sample

HELL IS COMIN’ TO CALL

After a few moments, Leach expressed what they were all thinking. “Don’t look like there’s nobody home but the little lady and the young’un. We’d best wait a few minutes more to make sure her old man ain’t settin’ by the fire.”

“Maybe he’s off ridin’ with that posse, lookin’ for us,” Snake said, amused by the thought.

“Yeah,” Roach said, grinning, “that’d be somethin’, wouldn’t it?” Turning to Leach, he urged, “Ain’t nobody else around. Let’s go on down and pay our respects.”

“Now don’t go off half-cocked till we see for sure there ain’t no rifle pointed at us,” Leach said. “We’ll just ride up nice and neighborly till we see what’s what.”

Even as he spoke, he knew his warning was probably wasted. Roach went crazy anytime his nostrils caught the scent of a woman. He had even ravaged an old woman a couple of days before—with her husband and three young’uns lying dead beside her . . .

DEVIL’S
KIN

Charles G. West

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

“Lookee yonder, Leach.” Ernest Roach waited for his two companions to catch up. When Leach and Snake pulled up on either side of him, Roach pointed, directing their gaze toward the modest cabin at the foot of the hill.

Leach didn’t say anything for a moment or two while he looked the tiny homestead over. The cabin looked to be two or three years old. There was a small barn built off to one side, open on both ends, with a corral attached. “One horse and one mule,” he commented to himself.

“Damn! Look at that!” Roach broke into his thoughts, and Leach turned to follow the direction of Roach’s gaze. He immediately saw the cause of his companion’s excitement. A young woman emerged from the barn, walking briskly toward the cabin. A toddler trailed along behind, holding onto his mother’s skirt as she stepped around the larger puddles, trying to hurry to get out of the rain.

“One horse and one mule,” Leach repeated, this time loud enough for the others to hear.

“And one cow,” Snake interjected dryly, having noticed the animal’s head appear at the barn entrance.

All three were silent then, waiting to see if the man of the house would then appear. After a few moments, Leach expressed what they were all thinking. “Don’t look like there’s nobody home but the little lady and the young’un.” He removed his wide-brim hat and flung some of the water from it before replacing it on his head. “We’d best watch for a few minutes more to make sure her old man ain’t settin’ by the fire.”

“Hellfire,” Roach replied, anxious to get a closer look at the woman. “What if he is? We can take care of him right quick.”

“Maybe he’s off ridin’ with that posse, lookin’ for us,” Snake said, amused by the thought.

“Yeah,” Roach said, grinning at the half-breed, “that’d be somethin’, wouldn’t it?” Turning to Leach, he urged, “Ain’t nobody else around. Let’s go on down and pay our respects.”

Leach didn’t reply, having come to the same conclusion. He gave his horse a kick and started off through the poplars toward the foot of the hill. He didn’t speak until halfway down, when he reined up momentarily to issue some words of restraint. “Now don’t go off half cocked till we see for sure there ain’t no rifle pointed at us,” he said. “We’ll just ride up nice and neighborly till we see what’s what.” Even as he spoke, he knew his warning was probably wasted. Roach went crazy anytime his nostrils caught the scent of a woman. He had even ravaged an old woman a couple of days before—with her husband and three young’uns lying dead beside her.

*    *    *

Inside the cabin, Sarah removed her woolen shawl, and shook some of the water from it before draping it across the back of a chair near the fireplace. Using her skirt for a towel, she dried her son’s hair and face. Holding the child at arm’s length, she smiled at him. “You’d just as soon stay out there in the rain and splash around in the mud, wouldn’t you?” The child giggled as she playfully ruffled his hair. “You’re just like your father.” The comment caused her to pause and think of her husband. Jordan had only been gone for two days, but it seemed like a week. She tried never to let him know how frightened she was when he was away from the cabin. When she was growing up on her father’s farm, there had always been a lot of people around: her family, the hired hands, her mother’s maid. Now there were only the three of them, and sometimes she would not see anyone else for weeks at a time. The isolation never seemed to bother her husband. In fact, he thrived on it.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the horse nicker. Thinking that maybe Jordan was returning, she went to the door and looked out. What she saw immediately troubled her. Three men were filing down the slope, their yellow slickers glistening in the rain. She didn’t recognize any of them, and alarming thoughts sprang to mind at once. Just two days before, the Thompson family had been massacred. Sheriff Winston Moffett had sent his young deputy to fetch Jordan to join a posse to search for the murderers. Jordan had been reluctant to leave Sarah and Jonah alone, but felt he had an obligation to the community.

She didn’t like it when Jordan was away, fearing the possibility of incidents like the one facing her now. Feeling her heart pounding in her chest, she went to the cupboard and took a single-action revolver from the top shelf. With the pistol in her skirt pocket, she returned to the door, little Jonah clinging to her leg.

*    *    *

“Mind your manners, boys,” Leach warned as the three men approached the house. Although the cabin door was opened only a crack, he could see the woman standing there watching them. With a gun in her hand if she’s got any sense, he thought. Slow walking their horses, the three rode up before the cabin, halting a few yards from the door. “Hello the cabin,” Leach called out. “Anybody home?” He glanced over at Roach and shot him a warning frown. Roach was fairly fidgeting with anticipation. “We’re ridin’ with the posse, lookin’ for them outlaws. We could sure use a cup of coffee if there’s any to spare.”

His words were far from reassuring to Sarah. She was tempted to simply make no reply, hoping they would then ride away. But she knew they had seen her peering out the crack of the door. Finally she responded, her voice trembling with fright, “I’m afraid we can’t ask you inside.” She hesitated, searching her mind for something that might persuade them to leave. “We’re sick. I think it may be the pox.”

Certain now that there was no one else inside but the woman and her child, Leach dismounted. Snake and Roach followed suit. “Ain’t no need for you to be concerned, ma’am. We’re just checkin’ on folks in this part of the valley, makin’ sure you’re all right.”

“We’re all right,” Sarah quickly replied. Then remembering what she had just said, she added, “We’re just sick is all. I’m sorry I can’t invite you in for coffee.”

“Is that a fact?” Leach responded. “Well, this looks like your lucky day. Roach here is a doctor. He’ll be glad to take a look atcha.” With a nod of his head, he motioned toward the cabin wall.

Roach understood. Grinning widely, he moved to a position to the right of the door and inched his way closer, while Leach continued to engage Sarah in conversation. With another silent motion, Leach directed Snake to move around to the back of the cabin. Then he took a couple of steps toward the door.

Certain now that the strangers meant to do her harm, Sarah took the pistol from her skirt pocket and cocked it. Her hand trembling, she held it before her. “I’m afraid I must ask you to leave,” she said as bravely as she could manage, but unable to keep her voice from quaking. “My husband should be here at any minute,” she added.

Seeing the barrel of the pistol now protruding a few inches through the partially opened door, Leach stopped. He gave Roach a nod. “Now look here, lady. There ain’t no call to point a gun at me. We just wanna get out of the rain for a while.”

“Please leave,” Sarah pleaded, her voice without all pretense of bravado, the hand holding the revolver trembling perceptively.

She had no sooner uttered the words than Roach suddenly grabbed the barrel of the weapon and wrenched it from her hand. Following Roach’s move, Leach quickly stepped forward and grabbed Sarah’s arm before she could slam the door. “Come on out here, missy, and let’s have a look atcha,” he crowed as he kicked the door open and hauled her violently out into the rain. With little Jonah clinging to her skirt and screaming with fright, she fell to her knees in the mud, reaching instinctively for her son. She drew the terrified child up close to her in a vain effort to protect him, knowing their fate was in the hands of God.

“Damn!” Roach exclaimed, fairly salivating in his anticipation and delighted with his prize. “She’s a real looker, ain’t she?” Without hesitating, he reached down and, grabbing her by the bodice of her dress, pulled the struggling woman to her feet. “I’m claiming the first ride on this little filly.” With a sharp rap across Jonah’s face to quiet the bawling youngster, he started to drag Sarah inside the cabin.

“The hell you say,” Leach said, catching him by the arm. After seeing Sarah up close, his desire was as fervent as that of the lustful Roach. “Who the hell said you had the right to have her first?”

Roach, his passion already overheating, tried to jerk his arm free of Leach’s grasp. But Leach held him firm. When Roach released his grip on Sarah’s bodice in an attempt to shove Leach away, Sarah saw her chance. She grabbed Jonah by the hand and ran for the corral. Locked in a shoving match, Leach and Roach didn’t realize she had taken flight before she had scrambled between the rails of the corral.

Having heard the commotion at the front door, Snake turned the corner of the cabin in time to see Sarah and the child running for the barn. Without hesitation, he raised his rifle and fired, putting two bullets in the fleeing woman’s back. Knocked down immediately, Sarah fell sprawling in the muddy slime of the soggy corral and lay still.

Roach was devastated. Arriving beside the body a moment or two behind the half-breed, he bemoaned the lost opportunity. “What the hell did you do that for?” Roach demanded.

Snake shrugged as he stared down at the woman’s body, her young son crying at her side as he vainly begged his mother to wake up. “She was trying to run” was Snake’s simple explanation.

The absolute senselessness of the killing infuriated Roach. “Why, you dumb son-of-a-bitchin’ half-breed, you ain’t got no more sense than that. . . .”

“Maybe I shoot you,” the stoic half-breed said in reply, gazing at his partner with steady lifeless eyes.

“Well, that would just about fix things up proper, wouldn’t it?” Leach stood gazing down at the dead woman, her son now wailing in terror. “Somebody shut that young’un up.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Snake swung his rifle, catching the unsuspecting child beside his temple with the barrel. The force of the blow knocked Jonah several feet away, where he then lay as still as his mother.

“Well, I reckon you shut him up all right,” Roach said sarcastically, still frustrated by the somber half-breed’s lack of constraint.

“What was you aimin’ to do?” Snake replied coldly. “Take him to raise?”

“It’s done now,” Leach said, stepping between the two. “Let’s see what we can find and get the hell outta here.”

Snake turned and went into the barn while Roach remained standing over the body. “That’s just a damn shame,” he complained. “That damn Injun just ruined all our fun.” He squatted on his heels and pulled Sarah’s skirt up.

“You aimin’ to jump on a dead woman?” Leach wanted to know.

“Hell no,” Roach at once retorted. “I’m just lookin’ at what I missed. Damn”—he sighed in frustration—“she was a pretty thing.”

Leach shrugged, figuring they had wasted enough time. “They all look pretty much alike with their clothes off. Let’s get going.”

Just then, Snake came out of the barn, carrying a shotgun. Holding it up, he said, “This is what she was runnin’ for—found it hid in the hay rack.” He walked over to the horse to get a closer look. “Pretty good horse,” he decided. “Wanna take it with us?”

Leach hesitated for a moment before answering, “Nah, I reckon not. If we happen to run into that posse, we don’t wanna be riding with this feller’s horse.” He turned and started for the cabin. Behind him, Snake removed a couple of rails from the fence and chased the livestock out. Leach didn’t bother to ask the half-breed why. Snake just did whimsical things.

They found little of real value in the tiny cabin. They took what food they could find, as well as Sarah’s pistol and a box of cartridges. Snake strapped the shotgun on his horse. “I reckon that’s about it,” Leach commented as he stepped up in the saddle. Snake took a piece of wood from the fireplace and, using it as a torch, touched off a fire in the middle of the cabin, piling on curtains and furniture to give it fuel.

Already mounted, Roach shook his head. “Now what the hell is he doing that for?”

Leach shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the Injun in him, I reckon.”

*    *    *

Jordan Gray stood transfixed, staring vacantly at the lifeless bodies of his wife and son. Oblivious to the cold, steady rain that beat down upon his face, he felt as helpless as he ever had in his entire life. Stunned, his brain refused to function for what seemed an eternity, until finally, drained of all energy, he dropped to his knees in the muddy corral. Tears streamed down his rough cheeks as he gently lifted his wife’s face from the wet mud and held her head with one hand while he struggled out of his coat. Laying her head carefully upon the coat, he paused a moment to wipe the filth away from her cheek before moving several yards away to gather up the body of his son.

Jordan had never been one to waste time wondering about the why of things. Unlike her husband, Sarah Gray had always held a certain fascination for why things happened the way they did. She had often sat out under the stars at night, trying to imagine what part she and her little family had to play in God’s great plan for all the creatures of his universe. In contrast, Jordan never gave things like that much thought. He seriously doubted that a grand plan even existed. All his life, since being orphaned at age ten, he had known only one religion that produced any definable results, and that was hard work. And to feed and clothe his family required practicing that religion from sunup to past dark in the fields he had cleared. He never let his mind dwell upon whether or not his lot in life was fair. It was all he had ever known, and if he thought about it at all, it was just to be grateful that he had a strong back to do the work.

For the past four years, he had had a reason to work even harder. The only miracle he had ever known in his life was when Sarah accepted his proposal of marriage, and never a day passed that he had not marveled at the wonder of it. One year to the day after they exchanged vows, Jonah was born. Sarah had wanted to name their son after her father in hopes of appeasing the old man somewhat for going against his wishes and marrying one of his hired hands. At least, that was what Jordan supposed. Jonah Wheeler had begrudgingly offered forty acres of his farm as a wedding present, but Jordan had politely refused, preferring to start a new life with indebtedness to no man. Sarah cheerfully supported her husband’s pride, and bade her mother and father goodbye as she and Jordan rode off to find land of their own. It had been a hard four years, but they had been the only happy years of Jordan Gray’s life. Hardly a day had passed during that time when he did not marvel at his good fortune. Sarah was his life.

Now, kneeling in the muddy quagmire of his corral, created by six days of steady rain, and holding the bodies of his wife and son wrapped in his coat and pressed close to him, he felt the fatal results of his pride. He clenched his eyes tightly closed, grimacing with the pain he felt when he pictured Sarah’s final moments. From the marks left in the mud, he could see that she had attempted to make a run for the barn and was shot down halfway across the small corral. Her murderers didn’t waste a bullet on little Jonah, simply knocking him in the head as he must have cried out for his mother. Unable to contain his grief as these horrible images flooded his brain, Jordan looked up to the leaden skies and cried out his pain. He had not been there when they needed him most. The irony of the situation increased his agony tenfold. He had been away with a posse, looking for outlaws who had raided another isolated farm two days before, leaving a family of five dead. If he had stayed at home, Sarah and Jonah might still be alive.

As he looked around him now, his world seemed dead, gray as the dingy clouds hanging low overhead. The smoldering ashes of the cabin he had built were in the final stages of life as the steady rain patiently extinguished each lonely spark. The barn was still standing, but the livestock were gone. The only things left to him were his rifle and his horse. There was some money he had been saving to purchase another fifty acres near the river—if the raiders had not discovered his hiding place and dug it up. Everything else was gone. Suddenly the thought struck him that he hated the sight of this place, and he wanted to be away from it. All meaning to his life would be buried with his wife and son.

It was almost sunup by the time he finished digging the grave on the little hill behind the cabin. This was Sarah’s favorite spot to gaze at the stars, out from under the huge poplars that shaded the little cabin in summer. She’ll always be able to look up at the stars, he thought as he gently lowered the tiny body of his son to rest beside her. He stood back to look up into the dark sky, which was already melting into lighter shades of gray in anticipation of the sunrise. It had stopped raining sometime during the night. He had not taken notice of the exact moment as he had steadily worked at his grim task. Parting clouds overhead held promise of a clear day, suggesting that the long rainy spell might be over. The signs were lost on him. It no longer mattered that he was late in the spring plowing.

His tears exhausted, he was forced to choke back a dry sob as he began to shovel the saturated earth into the open grave. “I’m sorry, honey,” he blurted, unable to contain his grief when the first wet shovelful fell heavily upon her feet. Even though he knew she was no longer there, he could not bear to cover her with dirt. Vivid images of her radiant face raced through his mind, and he backed away from the grave, trying to control his emotions. Knowing it had to be done, he took hold of the shovel again and set to his grim chore.

The dismal task finished, only then did he give thought to the immediate demands of the living. His mind already overburdened with the guilt of not having been there to protect his family, he felt another stab of guilt when he realized that he had not unsaddled his horse. The poor beast had stood uncomplaining all night. Jordan quickly pulled the saddle off and led the chestnut gelding to the barn. He left it there with a portion of oats while he returned to look through the ashes of the house.

The fire had pretty much destroyed everything, but Jordan continued to search for anything that might have come through unscathed. Lifting a charred timber that had been the cabin’s ridge pole, he caught a glimpse of something shiny in the ashes beneath it. Brushing away the ashes, he reached down to retrieve a broken length of silver chain. Standing up again, he carefully wiped the chain on his shirt. It had held a small heart-shaped locket. The locket had been his wedding present to Sarah. He dropped the chain into his pocket and began sifting through the ashes in hopes of finding the locket. After half an hour with no luck, he gave up. It was useless to continue searching the ruins of his life. Everything was gone. Suddenly feeling totally exhausted, it occurred to him that he had not slept in two days. He walked back to the barn, sat down against the side of it, and closed his eyes for a few minutes. A few minutes turned into several hours, as he drifted off into a deep sleep.

He was awakened by the sun shining through the open end of the barn. A new day, it would go unappreciated by the man as he set his mind for what he had to do. He had no notion as to whom or how many he must hunt—only that hunt them he would, if it took the rest of his life.

*    *    *

Sheriff Winston Moffett was not in a good mood. He was late for breakfast, and that always served to put him in a foul mood. His deputy, young Johnny Spratte, had failed to show up for work that morning, and Winston didn’t like to leave the jail unattended when there was a prisoner in one of the two cells. When seven thirty came and passed, and Johnny had still not shown up, Moffett opened up the cell and roused Ned Tucker from the bunk. Ned hadn’t had time to sleep off his drunk, and protested his eviction before the usual time, but Moffett would not relent. His belly was already growling like a catfight about to commence.

Hell, I made it to work on time, he said to himself, thinking about his tardy deputy. If I can make it, he by God can. Speculating that Johnny felt justified in coming to work late because he had ridden with the posse, Moffett would be sure to remind his wild young deputy that riding a posse was part of the job. The sheriff had led the posse, and in spite of returning late in the night—and having to lock Ned up—he was at work on time this morning.

Still grumbling to himself, he was about to step up on the wooden walkway that fronted the hotel when he caught sight of a rider approaching from the far end of the street. He paused long enough to identify Jordan Gray, mildly surprised to see the quiet young settler in town after having ridden with the posse for two days. His interest tuned more toward a plate of potatoes and eggs than Jordan Gray’s reasons for being in town, the sheriff stepped up on the boardwalk and ambled into the hotel dining room.

Having spotted the sheriff at about the same time Moffett had seen him, Jordan guided his horse directly to the hotel. Still somewhat dazed, he went through the process of dismounting and tying his horse, his motions trancelike, before following the sheriff into the dining room.

“Well, Jordan,” Moffett greeted him when he walked in, “I’m surprised to see you here this mornin’. I thought you’d wanna be with that pretty little wife of yours after riding around in the rain for two days.”

“Sarah’s dead,” Jordan answered bluntly. “Jonah, too.”

Moffett dropped his fork. “What? Dead? How?” he stammered.

“Murdered,” Jordan replied, his words devoid of emotion. “By the same bunch we’ve been chasin’, I reckon.”

“Damn!” Moffett muttered, unable to think of an appropriate reply. “Damn,” he repeated. “We were lookin’ in the wrong end of the valley. They musta doubled back on us.” Seeing the blank look on Jordan’s face, the sheriff wasn’t sure what action the bereaved young man expected of him. “I reckon we could get up another posse,” he volunteered, glancing at his breakfast rapidly cooling off. In fact, Moffett had been satisfied that he had done all that was required of him in regard to the raid on the Thompson place. He had assumed that the raiders had left the territory, and were consequently out of his jurisdiction. He felt badly for the Thompson family, all five murdered, but he was relieved that he did not have to go up against a gang of ruthless killers. Now this with Jordan Gray, and his eggs were getting stone cold. Feeling a tiny stab of guilt for thinking of his stomach in the face of such tragic news, Moffett realized he must answer the call of his responsibilities.

“How long ago you figure it was?” the sheriff asked, reluctantly pushing his plate away.

Jordan hesitated. “A day or two—I don’t know.” It occurred to him then that he had not taken the time to look for signs that would even tell him which way the raiders had left when they finished their evil business. He promised himself that he would tuck his emotions away from that point on.

Moffett placed his hand on Jordan’s arm, reassuring him. “Don’t you worry, son. We’ll go after them, soon as I can round up another posse.” The implications of Jordan’s tragedy began to take hold in the sheriff’s mind. Maybe this band of raiders had not left the valley after all. Who might be the next to be hit? His own house was over a half mile from town. “Yes, sir,” he decided, “we’d best not waste any more time.” Grabbing a biscuit from his plate, he got to his feet.

Outside the hotel, Moffett paused, looking up and down the empty street as if searching for candidates for his posse. “I wonder where the hell Johnny is,” he complained. He pulled his watch from a vest pocket and stared at it for a few seconds. It was already half past eight, and still no sign of his deputy. He looked into the expressionless eyes of the man stoically watching him, waiting for some show of action. “It’s gonna take me some time to round up some of the boys who rode with us out to the Thompsons’. Why don’t you go on back to your place and scout around? And we’ll meet you out there.”

Jordan didn’t react at once as he studied Moffett’s face. He was thinking that maybe it had been a waste of time coming to the sheriff for help. He should have scouted around, picked up the raiders’ trail, and gone after them while it was still fresh. After a moment, he nodded his head and turned to leave, just as Rufus Bailey unlocked the door of the saloon next door to the hotel. Jordan paused when Rufus walked over to greet them.

“Damn, I’m right sorry to hear that,” Rufus said when Moffett related Jordan’s tragedy. “I’d volunteer to ride with you, Sheriff, if I wasn’t by myself in the saloon until this afternoon when my help comes in.”

“I’m lookin’ for Johnny,” Moffett said. “Was he in the saloon last night?”

Bailey nodded. “Yeah, he came in after you came back, stayed around for about an hour, then lit out for somewhere. He didn’t say where.”

Moffett shook his head slowly, thinking about his young deputy. “I swear, I mighta made a mistake when I hired that boy,” he speculated aloud.

Rufus hesitated for a moment, as if not sure he should say what he was thinking. “It ain’t none of my affair, but I’d say Johnny Spratte picks a pretty rough bunch for drinkin’ partners. I mean, with him supposed to be a lawman.”

This piqued Moffett’s interest. “Whaddaya mean?” he asked.

“I mean there was three pretty rough-lookin’ fellers passed through here a couple of days ago. You probably saw ’em.”

The sheriff nodded. “Johnny said they was with a cattle drive north of town.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Rufus replied, shaking his head