Heat Lightning

Book 3: Tinhorn Western

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Westerns

Synopsis

A cattle baron seeking to expand his empire targets a Texas town only to run across a pair of lawmen who can’t be bought—and prefer to deal in lead—in the latest rip-roaring, action-packed Tinhorn Western from national bestselling authors William W. Johnstone and J.A. Johnstone.
 

TINHORN, TEXAS. HOSTILE TERRITORY.

 

To wealthy rancher Ira Dunellen, the frontier prairie land surrounding his spread is his for the taking. His cattle need room to roam and the one-horse town of Tinhorn, Texas is standing in his way. On the bank of the Neches River, the small community of merchants is just wasting a precious resource that Dunellen’s growing range needs.
 
As stray cattle wander into town, followed by rowdy cowboys, Sheriff Flint Moran and partner Buck Jackson start corralling up any man or beast disrepecting the citizenry and breaking the law. It’s clear Tinhorn’s lawdogs are running rabid, so Dunellen hires deadly gunslinger Cash Kelly to put them down.
 
But unknown to Dunellen, Cash has a score to settle with Flint. Bullets are going to fly. And the dirt streets of Tinhorn will be soaked in blood . . .

Release date: July 29, 2025

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Leonard Pope, secretary for Judge Franklyn Grant, looked up when he heard footsteps echoing in the back hall of the judge’s law office in Wichita, Kansas. “Mr. Dunellen,” he greeted the grim-looking Irishman. “Is Judge Grant expecting you?” If that was the case, Pope’s boss had not mentioned it to him.

“No, I don’t suppose that he is,” Dunellen replied. “But I’m sure he’ll want to hear what I’ve come to tell him. Is he in?”

“Yes, the judge is in, but he is working on a very busy schedule,” Pope answered. “Is it important? Could it wait until tomorrow?” He knew for a fact that Grant did not like to be surprised by one of his agents.

“It’s best I tell him today,” Dunellen replied in his usual unemotional manner. “I’m leaving Wichita today, and I don’t intend to come back.”

“Oh,” Pope responded, as he was taken quite by surprise. “Does the judge know you’re planning to leave?”

“Damnit, man,” Dunellen responded. “I told you I’ve come to tell him today, right now. I suggest you tell him I need to talk to him and let him decide if he wants to see me. But I’ll not wait around here all day. I have to get started on a long trip.”

“Wait here,” Pope said at once. “I’ll go and tell the judge you’re here to see him.” He got up from his desk and walked halfway back down the hall to enter the door to Grant’s office.

Inside, he found the judge sitting at his desk, drinking a cup of coffee. “What is it, Leonard?” Grant asked patiently.

“Hate to bother you when you’re having your coffee, sir, but that sinister Irish agent of yours is at my desk, and he’s insisting that he has to tell you something. I told him you were very busy this morning, but he said he was leaving Wichita sometime today.”

Grant was obviously not in a mood to discuss Dunellen’s personal problems. Dunellen was well paid for his services, and it was one of the conditions of his employ, that his personal problems remain personal. It was risky enough that he came to this office when he was sent for. There was not much chance that anyone around Grant’s office would recognize the Irish assassin, but Grant wasn’t comfortable having him show up uninvited. The best thing to do, he decided, was to see what he wanted and get him out of his office. “Send him on back, Leonard. I’ll see what’s on his mind.”

Pope left his office, and in a couple of minutes, Dunellen showed up in his doorway. “Ira,” the judge greeted him. “Leonard tells me you need to see me about something. What’s on your mind?”

“I came to let you know that I’m leaving Wichita today, and I didn’t want to do it without telling you,” Dunellen said.

“Where are you going?” Grant asked. “And how long are you going to be gone?”

“I’m going to Texas, down near Houston, and I’m not coming back,” Dunellen stated frankly. “It’s time I got into another business.”

His declaration came as a complete surprise to the judge and was not welcome news at all. Dunellen was perfect in his role as an assassin. Tidy and efficient, most of his work passed for an accident. He was not an especially large man, but he was strong, with powerful hands. He would be hard to replace. “What are you going to do in Houston?” Grant asked. “Did someone offer you more money? Maybe I could afford to increase your pay, if that’s your reason for leaving.”

“No, that’s not it a-tall,” Dunellen replied. “I’m going into the cattle business.”

“You what?” Grant couldn’t believe what he heard. “You don’t know anything about raising cattle.”

“That’s a fact, but I can learn. I have a cousin who has a cattle ranch north of Houston. I’m going into partnership with him. I’m buying into it with the money I’ve saved over the years working for you. I’m getting too old for the work I do for you. You need younger men. I’m going to be forty-two in a couple of months, and I can feel my body slowing down. I want to build something with the years I have left. I came to this country to make something I could be proud of. I’m not proud of being an assassin.”

Judge Grant found it hard to argue with Dunellen’s decision. Being honest with himself, he never suspected the cold, emotionless killer of having any thoughts about his future. But he had to agree with him. Had he waited a few years longer, he might not have been as efficient as he now was. “Very well, Ira,” Grant said. “I think that you are the only person who knows when it is actually time to retire from your current line of work, and I respect your judgment on the matter. I’ll tell you what,” he went on, “to show my appreciation for the service you have performed for me, I am going to give you a hundred and fifty dollars to help pay for your trip. And I’ll wish you the best of luck with your new adventure.” He didn’t confess it to Dunellen, but he hoped that parting gesture would inspire him to remain loyal to his vow of secrecy in the future. Maybe there was no need to worry, since he said he was going all the way down to Houston, Texas. At any rate, one hundred fifty was cheaper than what it would cost him to send someone that far to silence him in the event it became necessary. He got up from his desk and walked to his office door with him and shook his hand. And Dunellen walked out of his life, holding the hundred and fifty in his hand. He would add it to the small fortune he had amassed over the years he worked for Judge Grant, killing and robbing. Living like a monk in a monastery, saving every cent he could in preparation for this day, he was ready to build the empire he envisioned.

That was a little over two years ago, and yet Ira Dunellen remembered that morning in the town of Wichita as if it had happened only two days ago. He had no ambitions to establish himself as the head of a hardworking Irish family, so he had been easily swayed to the easy money on the wrong side of the law. At first, he was content to get by with a share of the money from a train robbery, or a stage holdup, and the occasional bank robbery. Because he was strong and tough and had no conscience, he was soon recommended to Judge Franklyn Grant to handle the elimination of roadblocks in the judge’s plan of conquests. The first year he filled the role of assassin, he was contacted by someone who was nameless, and he didn’t even know who he was working for. In time, he was so dependable that he was eventually allowed to report directly to the judge for his assignments.

As he had told Grant on that morning when he notified him that he was leaving his service, he was growing tired as he grew older. What he had not told Grant, however, was that he was tired of playing the role of assassin for him. He wanted to control the money from a position of power, and have some underlings play the role of peon to him. He saw only one possible path to gaining a position of power. It was the only one open to him, and that was through his cousin, Conan Daugherty, who had come to this country on the same boat as he. But Conan chose a different path to travel, opposite the one that Ira was drawn to. Conan was drawn to the cattle country of Texas. And during the years that Ira was rising to the top of the world of robbery and death, Conan was working to settle his own piece of land and become one of the many small ranchers in that part of Texas. In the process, Conan had also married and started a family. Thinking about it now, Dunellen had to laugh when he thought of Conan’s reaction when he showed up on his doorstep one spring day. He let his mind replay the scene.

He pulled his horse to a stop at the edge of the creek and let the black Morgan gelding drink while he studied the small house on the other side with two small children playing in the front yard. “Not very grand,” he muttered as he took in the barn and outbuildings behind the house. “Not very grand indeed,” he pronounced, disappointed to find that Conan had not done better for himself. He rode on across the creek, leading his packhorse behind him.

When he rode up and stopped in front of the steps, Arleen Daugherty stepped out on the porch. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, maybe you can,” Dunellen answered. “I’ve been looking for the home of Conan Daugherty. Some farmers I passed back on the road told me it was the house by the creek with the pretty lady and the two little tykes.”

“Well, I doubt that,” Arleen replied, “but this is the Daugherty ranch. Why are you looking for my husband?”

“Because I’m his cousin, Ira, and I haven’t seen him since we got off the boat here in this country.”

She smiled then, although she was not overjoyed to have a grown man show up unannounced, and uninvited. “Oh, well,” she managed, “then you’ll wanna ride straight out behind the barn. That path will lead you to the pasture where Conan’s haying. He’ll be excited to see you.”

“I’ll leave my packhorse in your corral there, then I’ll see if I can find Conan.” He tipped his hat and wheeled the Morgan around to head for the barn while she hurried back into the house to see if she could find enough to cook. Ira unloaded his packhorse and turned it out into the small corral. He put his packs in the barn, then climbed back on his horse and followed the path behind the barn. It’s a damn good thing I got here, he thought, because it looks like Conan isn’t doing very well. He rode only a little farther before he saw his cousin cutting hay and piling it in a wagon. “If that ain’t the damnedest . . .” he uttered when he saw him. He didn’t come all the way to Texas to work in a field like that. He planned to have a crew of men to do those jobs. It was obvious that Conan was going to need a dose of ambition.

He rode his horse right up behind him before Conan was aware he was there. “I swear, Cousin, can’t you hire anybody to do that?”

Conan jumped, startled. When he managed to turn around, he stood lost for a moment before he realized who it was. “Ira!” Conan exclaimed. “You gave me a start. If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes! Whaddaya doin’ here?”

“I came down here to see how bad you’re doin’, and I have to believe you’re doin’ pretty damn bad.”

“Whaddaya talkin’ about?” Conan responded. “I’m doin’ pretty doggoned good. I’ve got three hundred and fifty acres, with a house and a barn, and right now I’ve got three hundred head of cattle. Did you meet Arleen?”

“Yeah, she told me where you were. You’ve got three hundred head of cattle? Three hundred ain’t enough to fool with. Whaddaya gonna do with ’em?”

“Come spring, I’ll drive ’em to the railhead up in Kansas,” Conan answered.

“You’re gonna drive three hundred cows all the way to Wichita or Abilene?”

“Well, not by myself,” Conan replied. “There’s several of us small ranchers that’ll drive our cows in with the Rocking-C Ranch. They’ll have over two thousand cows, and we’ll help them drive the whole herd. I did that last spring when I didn’t have but two hundred head.”

“Well, all that small thinking is over,” Ira told him. “I came down here to put you in the cattle business. In the first place, we need cattle, so this winter we’re gonna build a herd. And we need a crew to do that.”

“Wait a minute, Ira. What are you talkin’ about? I don’t have the money to do what you’re talkin’ about.” He was surprised by Dunellen’s sudden arrival and baffled by his cousin’s remarks about what he needed and what they were going to do to increase his production.

“Do you think I’d come all the way down here to partner up with you without some money to pay my way in?” Dunellen insisted. “I brought a little money to get us started, and it’s the best time of the year to hire a crew. There’ll be a lot of cowhands ridin’ the grub line this winter. We can pick up all we need just by giving them three meals a day, plus enough money for tobacco and a drink of likker.”

“I don’t know, Ira.” Conan hesitated, not at all sure that his cousin knew what he was talking about. “I’m pretty satisfied with the progress I’ve made here on this place. I’m supportin’ my family and steadily growin’. I ain’t got enough work for any extra men.”

“Don’t worry about that. There’ll be plenty of work for them to do. I’ll take care of that.” This is going to be harder than I thought, Dunellen told himself. He has no vision beyond what’s for supper. He considered calling it off and going someplace else to build his cattle empire. But he decided it was best to stick with his original plan because Conan already had a nucleus of three hundred cows, and it would be easier to build a herd around them. He had hoped that Conan had more than three hundred, but he was not surprised, now that he had seen the progress that his cousin seemed satisfied with.

And that was the start of the Cloverleaf Cattle Company. Dunellen had to smile when he thought about it now. The look of astonishment on Arleen’s face when Conan told her that his cousin was a permanent guest was enough to cause a chuckle when looking back on it. He could still sometimes hear them arguing about it in their bedroom at night, especially about the kind of men he had hired. But the fact they could not deny was the sudden growth of the cattle herd after a midnight raid in Mexico. The herd continued to grow over that first winter, while most of the smaller ranches lost cattle. It finally became too much for Conan to handle when Dunellen insisted they had to leave his little ranch and move their cattle north to more open pasture. Conan was obviously reluctant to think about pulling up stakes and moving. And that was the status of the partnership at the present, which found Dunellen waiting at the chuckwagon for his cousin to join him. Instead of eating with the crew, they planned to ride back to the house for supper.

“I thought for a minute you mighta rode back to the house without me,” Dunellen said when Conan finally showed up.

Conan said, though, “I had some trouble getting a little bunch of cows out of a gully on the other side of the creek. You ready to go?”

“Yep, I’m ready.” He got on his horse and followed Conan out of the camp. When they were out of sight of the camp, Conan pulled his horse to a stop and waited for Dunellen to catch up. “What’s the matter?” Ira asked.

“I need to talk to you before we go home,” Conan said. “And I’d just as soon Arleen didn’t hear the conversation.”

“All right,” Dunellen said, “let’s talk.” He climbed down from his horse, expecting to hear more bellyaching about the way they were going about building a herd. “What is it that’s bothering you? The stolen Mexican cattle, the ones we cut out from some of the other ranches? What is it?” He dropped his horse’s reins on the ground and walked over to sit down on a large tree that had evidently been struck by lightning.

Conan stepped down from the saddle and walked over to sit down beside him. “Ira,” he began, “you’re my cousin and I want you to be successful in anything you wanna do. And it’s been all your money that’s made it possible to hire cowhands to build our herd. I’m pleased with our foreman, but I’ve gotta be honest with you. I’m not comfortable with most of the other men you’ve hired. They seem better suited to rustlin’ cattle than tendin’ ’em.”

“We need men like that sometimes,” Ira insisted. “And let me remind you, I went along with your recommendations, and we hired Lucas Sawyer as our foreman because of his knowledge of tendin’ cattle and movin’ the herd. So far, he hasn’t done a bad job teachin’ some of my rustlers to take care of the cattle they steal. Right?”

“Rustlin’ cattle in Mexico doesn’t bother me much,” Conan said. “Although I wish we didn’t have to do that. But some of the men are pickin’ up strays from some of my neighbors’ herds.”

“That’s because I told them to,” Ira replied. “Now that we’re fixing to move our herd north to better grazing, they’re not your neighbors anymore, and they can recover.”

“There’s another thing that ain’t settin’ right with me, givin’ up my homestead and movin’ north of here. This is where my family is bein’ raised.” He saw the impatient look on Ira’s face, so he made himself say what he wanted to say. “I think it would be best if we split our partnership, and you take your half of the herd and go north with it. And I’ll stay here.”

And make sure you return every brand that ain’t yours, Ira thought, disgusted. He was long past his gentle patience with his cousin, but he decided he’d make one more try. “Conan, we’ve just got a good start on building a herd that can make us some money before long. And you and Arleen and the little ones wouldn’t have to live in that shack any longer. We’re heading where the big operators work.”

“All the same to you, Ira, I’ll just stay with the small ranchers, but I wish you luck with your plans to be one of the big operators.”

“Sorry you feel that way,” Dunellen said. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“I am,” Conan answered.

“I guess that’s the difference between you and me,” Ira said. “I make my own luck.” He got up from the tree trunk and extended his hand. Conan grasped it, prepared to shake, but was startled when Ira clamped down on his hand and jerked him up from the trunk to be caught by the throat by Ira’s other hand. With hands still powerful, Ira clamped down on Conan’s throat, crushing it while meeting his cousin’s panic-stricken stare with the cool steel of his own, ignoring the dying man’s frantic struggling. Finally, Conan’s body went limp, and Ira released him, letting his body drop back across the tree trunk. “I’ve really had no place for you in my plans, but I need all the cattle, not just half. It was just a question of when.” He picked up Conan’s body and lay it across his saddle, then stepped up onto the big Morgan and started for the house, leading his cousin’s horse.

Arleen saw them when Dunellen passed the kitchen window on his way around to the front of the house. She screamed when she saw her husband lying across his saddle, and she ran to the front door to meet them. “Conan, Conan,” she repeated over and over as she ran to him.

“He’s dead,” Dunellen said.

“No! No!” She sobbed uncontrollably while she tried to lift up his head to kiss his face. “He can’t be dead! God, please!”

“I’m afraid he’s dead,” Dunellen said. “There’s nothing you can do about it. His horse stumbled over a gully, and he took a fall. Looks like he broke his neck, so I brought him home to bury him.” She collapsed to sit down on the ground, sobbing. “These things happen when we don’t expect ’em,” he continued. “Only thing you can do is get up and keep on going. I’ll go bury him behind the barn, and then we’ll go eat supper.” If she heard him, she made no response as he turned the Morgan and led Conan’s horse toward the barn.

After he took care of the horses, he got a shovel and went back to the spot where he had dumped the body, a spot where the ground looked soft. Then he dug a grave just deep enough to fully cover the body and dragged Conan into it, then filled it with dirt. When he was finished, he went back to the house to find Arleen sitting in the middle of the front-room floor. She was holding Angus and Brendan close to her. He looked at her for a few seconds before he said, “I put him in a nice grave. Here are some things he was carryin’ in his pockets I thought you might want—a pocketknife, some matches, and a watch. I didn’t figure you’d want his gun and holster, so I left it with his saddle.” She made no response, so he placed them on the side table. “We were heading home for supper when he took that fall. Don’t reckon you threw the food out, did you?” When there was still no response from her, he said, “I’ll just go take a look in the kitchen to see if you started anything. The living have to go on eating.”

He went into the kitchen and found that she had anticipated their arrival for supper, and there were some beans and potatoes warming on the edge of the stove. There were biscuits in the oven that were on the verge of burning up, so he pulled them out. The coffeepot was sitting on the table, so he looked in it and found there was water and coffee in it, ready to be put on the stove. So he put it on to boil. “No meat,” he said, “but enough other stuff to get by on.” He dished up a plate and sat down at the table to eat. Shortly after the coffeepot started bubbling, she came into the kitchen, her two youngsters, Angus and Brendan, in tow.

“Where did you bury Conan?” she asked.

“Put him in a nice spot back of the barn,” he answered. “Were you gonna cook some kind of meat for supper?”

She ignored his question. “My sons and I are goin’ to go say goodbye to their daddy,” she said, and started crying again.

“I know things are lookin’ kinda bad right now,” he told her as he put some molasses on a biscuit, “but you ain’t necessarily at the end of the road. You ain’t a bad-lookin’ woman, and I might need a woman myself. I’m gonna be movin’ the cattle a ways north tomorrow or the next day. You can go with me.”

His suggestion stopped her cold, and she couldn’t speak for several long seconds, scarcely able to believe this was happening. “Are you insane?” she demanded. “My husband just buried not fifteen minutes ago and you’re asking me to marry you? If you hadn’t shown up here uninvited, my husband would still be alive. And you think I’d marry you?”

“Well, I never said anything about marryin’ you. I just said I could use a woman to cook and keep my bed warm at night. It’s too bad about Conan, but that ain’t no call for a woman your age to dry up and die.”

“Your answer is no!” she cried out. “And I expect you to be out of my house when I come back from my husband’s grave. Come, boys,” she said. “You must say goodbye to your father.” She picked up a shotgun that was standing in a corner by the kitchen door.

“Best not come back too soon then, ’cause I’m gonna finish eatin’ supper before I go anywhere. It ain’t fair to blame Conan’s death on me anyway. Hell, blame it on the horse that threw him. I know he was your husband, but he was my cousin, and I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. I’m a little older than Conan, but we used to play together back in Ireland when he was a little fellow, like Brendan there. I think he would want me to take care of you, now that he’s gone.”

“Out! By the time I get back!” she insisted and went out the back door, carrying the shotgun and ushering Angus and Brendan ahead of her.

Conan’s grave was not hard to find. The “nice” spot that Ira said he picked was the closest spot to the barn that wasn’t packed hard by the horses and cows. The shovel was on the ground beside the grave, a sign of Ira’s careless concern about the burial. The mound over the grave was not very big, giving her the impression that Conan wasn’t buried very deep, and might therefore be subject to violation by an animal. So she decided to disinter his body and give him a proper burial. She had been given no time to say goodbye, and she wanted very much to do so. With that thought in mind, she took the shovel and started shoveling the dirt away. As she suspected, she did not have to go very far before she saw his clothes through the loose dirt. She carefully uncovered his body as the tears began again, but she was determined to make a better grave for him. When all the dirt was away, she found him lying in a grave that held his body only inches below the sides of the excavation.

It was a struggle, but she was determined to pull his body out of the shallow grave, and with six-year-old Angus trying to help, she finally accomplished it. Then she posted Angus at a corner of the barn with instructions to alert her if Ira came out of the house and came toward the barn. After carefully cleaning the dirt away from Conan’s face, she held him and kissed his cold cheeks. She noticed the odd bruising around his neck and realized there were no other marks of injury. It occurred to her later that there were a couple of fresh scratches on Ira’s face, while there were none on Conan’s. It seemed to her that there would be other signs of a broken neck, as well as cuts and scrapes, if Conan had been thrown from his horse. At this critical moment, however, she was too emotional over the loss of her husband to think straight. Most important to her now . . .