Gun Thunder

Book 0: Bartlett Brothers Western

by Carson McCloud

Genres: Action & Adventure; Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

In this first novel of a blazing new American Western saga, two brothers must set aside their differences to defend the land and legacy passed onto them from a ruthless, scheming banker and his band of kill-crazy desperadoes.

Jack Noble built the Rafter N Ranch with his own blood, sweat, and tears—the pride of Montana and the envy of every cattleman in the surrounding territory. His eldest grandson Gabriel Bartlett inherited Noble’s fighting spirit, necessary to survive in an unforgiving land. Daniel, Gabriel’s younger brother, has the strength and discipline to work the ranch, but lacks true grit when faced with a truly bad man.
 
Gabriel is now the notorious Noble Bartlett, a quick-draw gunfighter surly as a sidewinder. So when he learns about rustlers targeting the Rafter N, rides hard for home. There he finds Daniel holding down the ranch. He’s a hardworking family man who puts his trust in law and order. But the Bartlett brothers face brutal killers who know no mercy. They’ll need Daniel’s righteous resolve and Noble’s vicious violence to protect their family and send evil men to the hell that they deserve . . .

Release date: March 26, 2024

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

The man called Noble dropped down out of the snowy Rockies and rode out onto the broad Colorado prairie. The posse would arrive back at Jamestown by now. They had given up the chase just shy of noon; the big black Noble rode proved more than a match for their mounts.

“A double ration of oats for you, next time we come across any,” he said, and patted the stallion on the neck.

But there wouldn’t be oats for miles yet. Boulder was to the south, but they knew him there, so he had turned north for the empty grasslands of Wyoming. At a frigid mountain stream he dismounted and allowed the big horse to drink his fill while he topped off his canteen. It was a silent place, almost holy in nature. The kind of quiet place where a man could sit back, rest, take it all in.

A man might settle here, run a few cows, watch them grow, and just listen to the trickling stream in peace.

Peace, Noble snorted. What right did he have to that? He didn’t belong in such a place, no matter what he might want. Back in the saddle, Noble guided the stallion through a thicket of juniper before coming out into an open flat.

That was the first time he saw her.

She rode a little buckskin mare and, by the looks of both, they’d come a long way over rough country. Her hair hung long and loose, blonde locks filtering the setting sun’s last rays. Noble could see little of her features, more hair covered her face like a veil. She was tall though; the stirrups were let all the way out and still came up inches short. She wore a flimsy dress, torn in several places around the knees and hem, dusty from travel.

Now, where would a woman come from out here?

Boulder, forty miles south, was the nearest town; Jamestown ten miles farther and more to the west. There were a few settlements scattered along the edge of Colorado’s eastern slope, gold camps mostly, but these were all at least a dozen miles to the west.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see Noble until the tired buckskin stopped and she came right up on him.

“Sorry, mister,” she said. She tugged the reins to one side, but the exhausted horse refused to go on.

“I’d say you got your money’s worth out of that horse, ma’am.”

“Bailey was my brother, Chet’s, horse. Saddle too. I had to leave, though, and she was the only one saddled.”

“If you aim to keep that horse alive, you’d best stop for a time.”

“Can’t stop. Not with them after me,” she said. “I’ve got to . . .”

She swayed for a moment, then fell from the saddle. Noble let out a curse while scrambling down to see about her. On his knees, he cradled her head and looked her over. Nothing seemed broken, no sign of injury to her head; she’d fallen on soft sand and fresh spring growth. He lifted her up—shocked at how light she was—and carried her back through the thicket before setting her gently beside the stream.

Noble took off his coat, rolled it up for a pillow, and eased her head down. With his hand, he brushed the hair out of her face. She was young, not much more than twenty, and sweat caked a layer of rust-colored dirt to her features. Angry, red welts covered her bare arms and face.

She must have ridden through brush and branches.

“Ridden through at a run too, by the looks of those,” Noble muttered to himself.

Walking through the juniper again, he retrieved both horses, watered the buckskin, and picketed each on some fresh grass. He stripped the saddle off his stallion and moved it near the girl. Then he did the same for the mare. There were sores along the smaller horse’s back and flanks. That saddle hadn’t been off for days.

He carried some salve in his bags and treated the buckskin as best he was able.

He opened the girl’s saddlebags looking for a clue as to who she was or why she was out there; they proved empty.

She didn’t have any weapons—didn’t seem to have much of anything, really, only the tattered clothes she wore and the tired little mare.

Noble gathered an armload of juniper branches along with bits of tinder and started a fire. He took a battered coffeepot from his saddlebags, filled it at the stream, and soon had coffee going. Pouring himself a cup, Noble laid a pistol in his lap and leaned back against the trunk of a tall pine.

He had just finished the first cup when he heard them. They were beyond the thicket, but he didn’t have to wait long. Three dirty men came through the junipers with enough noise to make a buffalo herd proud. They came out beside the stream, no more than thirty yards downstream. When the three saw the water, they scrambled down off their horses and put their faces in the stream. Over the rim of his coffee cup, Noble watched them.

The three were almost indistinguishable from each other. All of medium height, all thin, tawny men with patchy beards and covered in grime. Even from here he could see that their horses were in even worse shape than the girl’s.

One of the newcomers noticed Noble’s horse and elbowed the man to his left. Both studied the stallion for a moment, then the first man glanced around like some feral creature. Noble reached down and picked up his pistol. The man started for Noble’s stallion.

“Touch that horse and I’ll kill you,” Noble said.

Instantly, all three froze in place.

Noble was back in the trees a ways, hidden in deep shadow. The three leaned forward to peer into the darkness; The three men’s eyes were drawn to the orange glow of the fire, then to the girl sleeping beside it.

The one who’d moved toward Noble’s horse spoke.

“Mister, we’re just out here looking for our lost sister. That’s her by the fire there. I don’t know what she told you, but all we want is to take her home.” Even as he spoke, his hand moved toward his belt gun.

“Touch that pistol and your ‘sister’ will be short one brother.”

Noble stood, gun in hand, and walked close enough to the coals so they could see him.

“Look, we don’t want no trouble. We’re just out looking for our dear sister there. Got to take her back to Pa is all.”

“And where would Pa be?” Noble said.

“Taylorville,” the brother nearest the stream said. While he spoke, the third brother, the one who’d said nothing so far, slipped the thong off his pistol. All three had their guns free now.

Noble smiled. How many times had he seen men like this before? Men who thought themselves sly. Out here in the wild, with no one to see, they were dangerous, much like a pack of coyotes might be to a newborn calf.

Noble was no newborn calf.

“What’s your sister’s name?” Noble said.

“Her name? You don’t know her name?” The one who seemed to be in charge tilted his head.

“Clarissa,” the second said.

“And your pa’s name?”

The third finally spoke. “Let’s kill him and take her.”

“Now, that’s not very nice,” Noble said. “Trying to kill people you don’t know sounds like a good way to get yourself hung.”

“Pa’s name is Tom Clemsen. And what’s your name, stranger?”

“They call me Noble.”

The three suddenly went very still. The quiet, bloodthirsty one took a step back.

“Seems like you’ve heard of me.”

“We have. We only want our sister back is all,” the closest brother said. He licked his lips and glanced at the sleeping girl.

“There’s three of us,” the quiet brother said. “I don’t believe the stories anyhow. No one is that fast.” For all his talk, though, he’d taken another step back, placing himself directly behind the one that had done most of the talking.

The girl woke then. She rubbed sleep from her face, then saw the three men and jerked upright. “Get away from me!”

All three brothers went for their guns. Noble snapped two rounds off before they cleared leather, one bullet each for the nearest two. The third brother, the quiet one, got his gun halfway up before Noble’s next two bullets struck him in the chest, and he fell dead. Noble’s aim swung back to the closer two. They were down—one dead, one dying.

Noble walked to the still-living brother.

“Seems like she doesn’t want to go with you.”

“Damn you. She was our—”

Noble put a bullet through his eye.

He turned back to the girl while reloading each cylinder.

“I take it those weren’t your brothers.”

“Brothers? N-n-no,” she said. “You killed them.”

“I gave them a chance; they could have run away. I would have let them go.”

The girl’s face hardened. “I’m glad you did.”

“Who were they?”

“Saul, Jack, and Silas Clemsen. Their pa claimed I owed him a horse. He said he’d trade it for me cleaning their house. Only he didn’t really want me to clean their house. He wanted me to . . .”

A tear rolled down her cheek.

“And your real brother? The one whose horse you have?”

“He’s gone. Chet caught sick last spring. Silas took Bailey, and I stole her back,” Clarissa said. She moved over to the brother with the missing eye, kicked him and then spit into his face. “Silas was the worst, always leering at me.”

“How far to this Taylorville?”

“A few hours,” she said and gave, him a leery look.

“North?”

She nodded slowly. “Right up against the mountains.”

Noble went toward his horse and the girl’s mare. “Coffee on the fire if you want it. I’m riding out.”

“You going to Taylorville then?”

“I am.”

“I need to go to Boulder,” the girl said. She filled a cup of coffee and then eyed the dead men again. “You won’t take me?”

“Take one of their guns,” Noble said, and threw the blanket on his horse. He did the same for Clarissa’s mare and then led both horses over to the fire. He handed the reins to the girl.

Noble saddled his stallion, reloaded the rest of his gear, and swung up. “It’s forty miles to Boulder. Your horse won’t make it without rest. You might go a little further if you ride one of theirs.”

The dead men’s horses grazed near the stream.

“Forty miles?”

“Forty or more,” Noble grunted. “Good luck to you, ma’am.”

Noble spurred the stallion into a trot then, passing through the screen of juniper and out onto the open plains. The night was bright, and the plains took on a ghostly glow. Most people wouldn’t ride at night—too much risk of breaking a horse’s leg—but Noble was used to it, and the stallion had excellent eyes. He heard the girl swear. She used—in his opinion—a particularly colorful word, one he was surprised she knew. Women rarely surprised him; men didn’t either, for that matter. Over the years, he’d met all manner of people through dozens of towns all over the West. Gold-boom towns, cattle towns, rail sidings. He’d seen them all.

Then she and the little mare came crashing through the thicket behind him.

“So we’re off to Taylorville,” she said when she’d caught up to him.

“Looks like it.”

“You know my name already. The least you can do is tell me yours.”

“Noble.”

For the third time in her life, Grace Bartlett rode along the old, secret trail west of her home. The first time she’d ridden this way, Gabe had been with her, the second time had been eight years ago. Gabriel had been along that time too.

This time, she traveled alone.

The first time she had done it on a dare of sorts. Gabe teased her for weeks before getting her to agree to follow him. He had been fifteen then, she thirteen, and his younger brother, Daniel, fourteen. Daniel had been working. Even as a boy, Daniel had always been working. He was—much like his father—born serious. But the three of them had been fast friends. Daniel stern and proud, she both cautious and adventurous, and then Gabe. . . .

Gabe swept through life like a summer storm, raw and primal, wild, and utterly fearless.

The three of them had once ridden to the edge of their valley to gaze out upon the far western Bitterroots.

Daniel glanced at those high places, then turned his eyes back inward toward his father’s lands, lands he would one day call his own. Grace stared at the snowy mountains, awestruck by their majesty but unwilling to go further. One look and Gabriel yearned to climb those icy peaks and see what lay far beyond.

They had been so young then. With so much ahead of them.

The second time they’d come thinking of running away and getting married. Gabriel’s parents had been furious. They were too young. They didn’t know what it took to make a marriage and a family. They needed to wait and be patient.

Grace sighed. She couldn’t remember why she and Gabriel decided against it in the end. Fear of his parents?

Gabriel’s parents, as they usually were, had been proven right.

Grace’s horse stopped at the crest of a long rise. How far west was she? Fifteen miles, at least. She’d started early, and it would still take all day to return.

The trail dipped down along a stream ahead of her, and from there it wound north until reaching the cabin and corrals she and Gabe had discovered those long years ago.

She patted Rose on the neck, then spurred the bay onward.

Grace knew the horse sensed her nervousness, and there was every reason to be nervous, if not outright frightened.

My family’s future depends on this. Depends on me succeeding.

Rose wound her way down the trail, and with every step, Grace’s fear grew. Who might be at the cabin? And worse, what if no one was?

Going back without finding out was not an option. If no one was at the cabin, she would have to return again later to find what she needed.

And if someone is there, I will have to convince them to help me.

It had been easier those years ago. Womanhood . . . motherhood had made her more cautious. And she knew now what manner of men lived in the world and what manner of men used the lost cabin.

The trail dropped down and turned north, following the stream. Movement drew her eye; a man had been watching from atop the hill ahead. Grace took in a long breath, fighting to calm herself. It seemed she would not have to make a second trip.

When the cabin came into view, it lay in worse shape than she remembered. The window overlooking the trail had fallen out, or had been shot out, and the roof sagged deep in the middle. The walls bulged outward at the top, and the whole thing looked like it might collapse under the next snowfall.

There were horses in the corral though. Three of them, all tall, handsome animals that looked like they could run all day. Finer horses than any honest man could afford.

Four disheveled men came out to meet her, each holding rifles. She knew none of them. A young man in a red shirt wore a bandage over one eye, he couldn’t have been more than twenty. Another had a buckskin shirt, leggings, and two guns tied down on his narrow hips. He gave her a wolfish smile. The third man was black. He wore a wide-brimmed planter’s hat and a bandolier of shells for a rifle. The fourth man took off a battered old cavalry hat and held it over his chest. He was the oldest of the group, with bits of gray in his lank hair and beard.

“Ma’am,” the older man said. “We weren’t expecting any visitors up here. You mind telling me what you’re doing up this way?”

“I understand,” Grace said. She took a breath, then started. “I am looking for someone. A man.”

The buckskin-clad man’s grin widened. “Looks like you found one. Four men, in fact.” He looked her up and down, and she fought back a shudder.

“The specific man I’m looking for is a big man, good with a gun.”

“I’m big enough when it matters, and as it happens, I’m plenty good with a gun,” the buckskin man said. He sauntered a step closer. “If you’ll tell me what you need, I’m sure we can reach some sort of arrangement.”

Grace ignored him. She kept her eyes on the older man; he seemed in charge. “The man I’m looking for has a scar on the back of his hand shaped like a crescent moon.”

“Ma’am,” the older man said, “I don’t recall anyone like that. Did this man of yours have a name?”

“He isn’t mine. I don’t know what name he uses anymore.”

The older man’s face turned ashen. “Ma’am, I surely wish you hadn’t ridden in here today. We can’t afford to have anyone knowing where we are.”

“Joss, you sure about this?” the wounded man said. “She’s a woman and all.”

“Mose, take Jake back inside,” the older man said.

The black man, Mose, leaned down and pulled the young, wounded man back toward the cabin.

Jake tried to resist, but Mose held him fast. “Dammit, Joss, this ain’t right. I didn’t sign on for this. Pit, don’t you dare.”

“Pit,” the older man said, “we can use that horse. I am truly sorry, ma’am.”

The buckskin man, Pit, was close now, and before she could pull away, he snatched the bridle of her horse. Rose shied back, but he held the bridle fast. “Why don’t you come on down off that horse and let us get a better look at you.”

Grace turned to him. “Let me go. I have no interest in you.”

His face turned red and ugly. “Think you’re better than me, do you? I’ll teach you something.”

He grabbed at her leg then; he moved very fast. She tried to hold on to the saddle horn, but he pulled her down. She hit the ground hard. The air rushed out of her lungs, and she gasped for breath. She remembered the derringer. Her hand went into her pocket. She fumbled for the small gun, found it, and drew it out.

He was ready for her. Snake-quick, he clamped an iron grip over her wrist.

“What’s this now? A pretty little lady’s gun.” He shook her and the derringer fell useless to the ground.

Not liking the commotion, Rose jerked back and tore free from the gunman’s hand. He swore, snarled, and then grabbed Grace’s shoulder. His grip was tight enough to hurt. Grace fought to get free, but he was so strong. What had she been thinking coming here? She would fail her family.

She fought with all she had. She raked at his eyes. She stomped at his legs and groin. Nothing worked. He was too strong. Too fast. He trapped both her hands in his left and raised his right hand, palm open, ready to strike her.

“Pit,” the older man said. He had caught her horse and was looking at its hip. “Pit!”

“What?” Pit snarled. “Dammit, Joss, I was about to teach her some manners.”

“Let her go.”

“What?” Pit cocked his head to the side.

Grace tried to take advantage of the distraction, but he put a hard knee on her stomach and pinned her to the ground.

“Pit, let her go.”

“No. Joss, we can’t let her go, and since we can’t, I’m about to have some fun with her.” Pit leered down at Grace.

“Let her go and help the lady up,” Joss said. He had a gun in his fist, leveled at Pit’s head. He cocked it, and Pit went still as a stone. “Pit, we’ve been friends a long time, don’t make me kill you.”

Mose had come back out of the cabin now. He looked from Pit to Joss in confusion. “What’s this about now?” he said.

Pit licked his lips. “Joss here has lost his nerve. Or he’s wanting the woman all for himself I—”

“Look at that bay’s brand, Pit,” Joss said.

Mose came up beside Rose, patting the frightened horse on the neck and talking soft and slow. He turned the horse to study the brand. “Lord almighty.”

“What?” Pit asked. “What’s so damned important about a damned brand?”

Mose turned Rose where the gunman could see the brand for himself.

Grace did not see it. She didn’t need to. The Rafter N, the Bartlett family brand, Daniel’s brand, her husband’s brand.

“I’ll be damned,” Pit said, and released her. “Joss, I didn’t know. How could I know?”

“You and us all,” Joss said. “Go back in the cabin with Jake. Mose and I will see to the lady.”

The gunman left without a word, and Joss offered Grace a hand to help her up. When she stood, her head felt groggy, and the ground spun.

“Ma’am, I apologize,” the outlaw said. “We didn’t know. We just came down from Helena after seeing to a bank there. Pit just got riled up and all. We’ve had a rough go of it. The posse killed Mose’s horse and all.”

Grace fumbled for Rose, and the two men carefully helped her up into the saddle. She mumbled her thanks, head still swimming. How could she ride home like this?

“Mose, get my horse,” Joss said, answering her unspoken question. “I’ll see you get home, ma’am.”

When the black man returned, he led a gelding that was all black but for two white hind feet.

Joss mounted up. “I’ll make sure she gets home. While I’m gone, Mose, keep an eye on Jake.”

Grace tried to clear her head. She’d come here for a reason, one that seemed lost to her now, but she knew it was important. She had to do something; she had to save the Rafter.

“The man, the man I’m looking for?” Grace said. She fought back her dizziness. “You know him. Will you find him?”

“We will,” Mose nodded. “I’ll send word with anyone who comes here between now and then.”

“Tell him . . .” Grace said. Her thoughts were clearer now. She knew what was needed. A hundred times she’d thought about what to say, about what might bring him back, “Tell him Grace needs him to come home.”

“We’ll be riding out tomorrow,” Joss said. “When we do, I’ll pass word along the trail as well.. . .