Hired Guns

Book 8: Luke Jensen Bounty Hunter

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Action & Adventure; Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

Johnstone Country. Where Frontier Legends Are Born.

A legend among bounty hunters, Luke Jensen has tracked some of the deadliest outlaws in the West. But sometimes, the competition can be even deadlier . . .

GHOST TOWN MASSACRE

It's the kind of job Luke Jensen hates. A millionaire mine owner is willing to pay $5,000 to the man who captures the half-breed outlaw Tom Eagle. Normally, Luke would turn down an offer like this — it smacks too much of being a hired gun. But when the millionaire tells him that Eagle is responsible for killing his son, Luke agrees to take on the job. Which means he'll have to take the road to hell itself — a.k.a. Hard Rock, Montana . . .

Hard Rock is supposed to be a ghost town. But when Luke arrives, the ghosts are alive and well — and gunning for his hide. They're a gang of actual hired guns — the kind of soulless killers Luke despises — and they're trying to collect the bounty, too. Luke barely makes it out of town alive when he runs in to the only man who can save him. The man he's been hired to hunt. The notorious Tom Eagle . . .

Release date: December 31, 2019

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

Luke Jensen was in a fix. A bad one.

What made it worse was knowing that he had been put there by the likes of the Turpin twins. How galling would it be if, after all the hardcases he had gone up against and survived, he would end up having his sun finally set by a pair of no-account knotheads like Oscar and Augie?

Not that Luke was ready to give up. Giving up wasn’t something that ran in the Jensen bloodline. But at the same time, neither did foolishly refusing to face the facts—and the facts when it came to his current situation were pretty grim.

He’d followed the two fugitives into this cramped, twisty canyon with its high, ragged rock walls knowing full well the risk that he might be riding into an attempted ambush. But having narrowed the gap between him and the brothers to such a slim margin after being on their trail for more than a week, he was anxious to close in the rest of the way and complete his mission of taking them into custody for the prices on their heads.

That was Luke’s trade. He was one of the most renowned bounty hunters in the West. Good enough, he reckoned, to pit his skills against the risk of anything the Turpins might try to spring against him.

As it turned out, he’d underestimated the craftiness of his prey. The only thing that saved him was that whichever of the brothers had skinned out of his saddle and clambered to a hidden crevice high up on the canyon’s north wall miscalculated when it came to firing at a downward angle in his attempt to back-shoot the bounty hunter as he passed below. The bullet sliced through the front brim of Luke’s hat, harmlessly knocking it from his head and sending it tumbling end over end rather than splitting the skull it had been resting upon.

The fraction of a second Luke had before a second bullet came sizzling in his direction was enough—though just barely—for his lightning reflexes to kick in and once again save him from the bite of hot lead. He pitched to his left out of the saddle and hit the ground rolling, scrambling immediately in amongst some various-sized boulders that littered the base of the canyon’s south wall. Luckily, some of these broken, ragged chunks remained large enough that they provided him cover against the continuing rifle fire angling down from the opposite wall.

But while Luke was safe for the moment, the same did not prove true for his horse. Without its rider, panicked by the repeated roar of the rifle and the craack-whine! of slugs ricocheting wildly off the surrounding rocks, the animal wheeled and tried to bolt away. It went barely a step, however, before the rifleman planted a bullet in its brain. As the unfortunate horse’s legs buckled and its heavy body began sinking to the ground, the shooter drilled home a follow-up round for good measure.

At least the loyal critter that had served him well over many a hard mile hadn’t suffered, Luke told himself... but that didn’t necessarily mean he could guarantee the same for the piece of vermin who’d gunned it down.

The loss of the horse itself was only part of Luke’s concerns. His Winchester was still in the saddle boot, still attached to the fallen animal where it now lay twenty feet away. And all the while there was the ongoing rifle fire that continued to slap and chip at the boulders behind which Luke remained pinned down.

As he hunkered tight to the ground, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched against the gritty dust being kicked up all around, Luke’s mind raced. He saw then how it had played out, how one of the brothers had quit his saddle, taking care not to touch the ground and leave a footprint that might have provided Luke some warning, and climbed quickly to a concealed spot up on the sharply sloping, deeply seamed canyon wall. He’d then waited patiently for the pursuing bounty hunter—still following the double set of hoofprints that continued along the canyon floor—to show himself and move into a spot where the ambusher had a clear shot.

Luke silently cursed himself for failing to notice that one of the sets of hoofprints must have started appearing more shallowly sunk into the sandy canyon floor after the horse’s rider left the saddle. It was oversights like that that got men killed, and the kind of mistake Luke prided himself on never making. Yet he had. And the only reason he didn’t end up dead as a result was due to the ambusher not being accurate enough to score the head shot he foolishly tried to pull off instead of aiming for the larger target of his intended victim’s torso.

So things could have been better, but they could have been a lot worse. As long as he was alive, he still had a fighting chance. And the brace of Remington. 44s strapped around his waist, butts forward for the cross-draw, gave him the means to put up a fight. His ammunition was limited to only the full wheels in each gun and the extra cartridges snugged in the loops of his shell belt, but if he made each round count, they represented a heavy toll for anyone bent on coming at him.

The only thing lacking was some kind of opening so he could bring the Remingtons into play. The way he was pinned down, not only was he being given no chance to shoot back, but he hadn’t even been able to determine exactly where the rifle fire was coming from.

As long as he stayed hugged tight to the boulders currently protecting him, Luke was safe. But he figured it was just a matter of time before the rifleman pouring lead his way would try to shift to a position where he had a better angle and could plant a slug where it would do more damage.

It also seemed likely that before too long, the other Turpin brother—the one who had continued riding and left the misleading hoofprints for Luke to follow—would double back and join in the ambush. If this second brother took to the high rocks of the canyon wall on the same side where Luke was hunkered, he would have a better vantage point to shoot from and Luke would find himself in even worse shape.

Luke had to make something happen before it came to that.

Despite the craftiness they’d displayed so far, Luke reminded himself that the Turpins remained a couple of dim candles in even the densest gloom. He had to try to use that as part of his defense against them.

When there was a lull in the shooting, probably while the rifleman was reloading, the bounty hunter called, “Hey, Turpin! You’re a holy terror when it comes to blasting horses and rocks! I’m surprised I’ve never seen that mentioned on any of the wanted posters issued against you.”

“You just shut up and don’t worry about it,” came the response. “One more inch and I’d’ve took your whole head off, instead of just that stupid hat!”

“Aw now, don’t go running down my hat. It was a perfectly good one until you went and ventilated it with a bullet hole.”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna ventilate your worthless hide, too, before I’m done!”

Luke went quiet again, his mouth curved in a thin smile. The exchange of words had been enough for him to tell that Augie was the twin he was talking to. Augie had a speech peculiarity he was left with after a knife blade split his lower lip back when he was a youth.

It also made sense that Augie would be the brother chosen to do some climbing and hiding up on the canyon wall. Though both he and Oscar had nearly identical facial features—both ugly—the years had packed a number of added pounds onto Oscar, leaving him bloated and ponderous while Augie remained relatively lean and spry.

This made for another slight break in his favor, Luke told himself, as far as the notion of Oscar doubling back and trying to close in on him from a second elevated position. Oscar’s bulk would make any such attempt mighty difficult, and if he did attempt it, it was bound to be slow, awkward going for him.

That gave Luke even more incentive for trying to turn the tables on Augie, while he was without the usual backup of his brother.

Considering the reports he’d heard about Oscar being the brains of the pair, according to most who’d spent any time around them, Luke calculated there might be something there he could use to needle Augie, maybe fluster him some.

“Boy, I bet your brother is gonna be mighty impressed when he sees that dead horse and all those rocks you’ve killed. That’ll sure make him proud he left you to take care of ambushing me, won’t it?”

“Shut up!” Augie hollered, his voice quavering with rage. “I’ve got you pinned down like a bug under a cup, don’t I? You ain’t got a chance of crawlin’ out of there alive!”

With that, he loosed another relentless volley, the rounds hammering and slamming the boulders shielding Luke until the canyon for dozens of yards in either direction reverberated with the roar of the gun punctuated by the scream of wildly ricocheting slugs.

This time when Augie momentarily halted, Luke was ready. Although he hadn’t dared poke his head up to gain an actual sighting, getting Augie to talk had allowed Luke to make a good estimate of where he was positioned—close enough, at any rate, to throw some return lead and demonstrate he was hardly a hopelessly trapped bug like Augie said.

Gripping one of the Remingtons in his right hand, he shoved up on his left elbow, thrust the Remy out over the crest of his protective boulder, and triggered four quick rounds at the spot where he judged Augie to be. He made a short sweep with the gun muzzle as he fired, planting slugs at two-foot intervals just above the bottom lip of a horizontal slash on the face of the canyon wall little more than a dozen feet above its base. The hollowed-out area filled with the spang of bullets and the rattle of flying rock chips. An alarmed curse spat out from the midst of all that and Luke very briefly saw a flash of orange—the same color as the shirt Augie had been wearing when Luke caught a glimpse of him through field glasses a couple of days earlier.

Luke dropped flat behind the boulder again, pressing the smoking Remington tight to his chest. One corner of his mouth quirked slightly upward. He didn’t believe he’d been lucky enough to score a serious hit on Augie, but he had the satisfaction of knowing he’d been accurate in placing the bushwhacker’s position and had sure made it hot for him. The thing now was to go for a quick follow-up before the dim-witted Augie saw the urgency in shifting to a different spot.

As he rapidly thumbed fresh cartridges into the Remington to replace the spent ones, Luke called out, “Hey, Augie! In case you didn’t notice, I guess the bug under the cup is a little more lively than you figured, ain’t he?”

“Even a dyin’ bug sometimes manages a death twitch—but that still don’t mean it’s got long to live!” Augie hollered back, a sneer in his voice.

Then he cut loose with the rifle again, raining more lead down on Luke’s boulder. As far as Luke could tell, the angle of fire remained the same, meaning Augie figured to use this latest bit of blasting as cover fire in an attempt to move to a new position—or he was even dumber than Luke thought and was sending a signal that he intended to hold right where he was and wait for Oscar to show up in order to help seal the lid on the man who’d been dogging their trail for so long.

Luke drew his second Remington and once more readied himself for a lull in the shooting. If Augie lingered just a little bit longer in the ragged cavity where Luke had caught sight of him, the bounty hunter had an idea for possibly eliminating him in a way that didn’t necessarily involve trying to plant a bullet in him or even needing to gain sight of him again. It was a long shot, but no worse than trading fire blindly until he ran out of bullets.

In his mind’s eye, Luke re-played a vision of the spot where Augie had chosen to conceal himself—the horizontal slash in the rock face of the canyon’s north wall. It was apparent this cavity had been created many years ago by a large rock slab, loosened over time by rain and wind, breaking away and toppling down to leave the hollowed-out gap behind.

But what was also left behind, Luke had noted, was a ragged ledge jutting out all along the top rim of the cavity. Like the larger slab that had torn away years earlier, it appeared inevitable that this ledge would also one day break free . . .

And maybe, with a little help, that could happen sooner rather than later.

The instant the lull in the shooting came, Luke sprang into action. He jackknifed to a sitting position, extended both arms over the top of the boulder, and began triggering the brace of Remingtons, one in each fist. This time he didn’t fire into the cavity at all, making no attempt directly on Augie, but rather he concentrated strictly on the ledge running across the top of the hollowed-out area. His slugs slammed in, chewing just above the jagged outcrop, chipping away at a weathered seam where the ledge appeared to be clinging to the rest of the canyon face.

Chips of rock flew and puffs of dust geysered upward. Bullets whined. And another kind of whine—coming from a confused and panicked Augie—could also be heard from deep within the cavity.

Then, just as Luke was triggering his last rounds, it happened. A loud cracking, ripping sound seemed to issue from the rock wall. It was like part of the canyon was groaning in pain. Until, suddenly, section after section of the ledge began crumbling away and tumbling down into a roiling, climbing cloud of yellow dust. From this a new sound grew, a low rumbling that rolled the length of the canyon. And with this was mixed Augie’s agonized screams as he was jarred out of the previously hollowed-out pocket and caught in the crushing spill of freshly loosened rock.

Luke’s gamble had paid off better than he’d expected or even hoped.

Once the final piece of dislodged rock had settled, an eerie silence fell over the scene. It was made even more intense by the thick, choking cloud of dust that hung in the air and cut visibility to mere inches.

Luke remained kneeling behind his boulder. As if by their own volition, his hands quickly but silently went through the motions of reloading his guns. He was mindful of the fact that Oscar was still lurking somewhere and it was just a matter of time before he was bound to show up. For this reason, Luke kept his ears pricked sharp, listening hard for any sound coming from farther down the canyon, off to the west, the way Oscar had continued on with his and Augie’s horses.

Everything stayed still and quiet. Slowly, the dust haze dissipated. When he was able to see that far, Luke’s gaze sought out the pile of rubble directly below the hollowed-out area where Augie had lain in ambush.

The cavity was dramatically changed now, scoured away to a barely discernible indentation on the canyon wall. The ragged ledge that had jutted out above it was gone entirely, leaving its own fresh scar. The resulting heap of fallen, broken rock now lay on the canyon floor, sprawled halfway across the passage.

Within this heap, Luke could make out the twisted, half-buried form of Augie Turpin. One leg thrust out at an impossible angle; one arm, still clad in tattered remnants of the orange shirt, was bent at the elbow in a way no arm was ever meant to bend.

Luke was still gazing at these remains, feeling no remorse for the man who’d tried to back-shoot him, when a new voice boomed down the canyon from off to the west. “Augie! What happened? Are you all right?”

Oscar had arrived.

Luke immediately shifted away from his boulder and slipped into a shallow crevice worn into a sloping section of the south canyon wall. This gave him cover against Oscar’s approach and also provided the option of being able to lean out and return fire or, if need be, fall back to another position. He meant to avoid getting pinned down again.

The biggest problem, he reminded himself bitterly as he glanced back over his shoulder at the carcass of his fallen horse, was that the time it took for the dust cloud to clear hadn’t given him the chance to retrieve his Winchester or any additional ammunition. Once again he’d have to deal with a Turpin brother, likely armed with a rifle of his own, and only have the Remingtons and the diminished supply of cartridges left in his gunbelt to do so.

“Augie!” Oscar’s voice boomed again. “Talk to me!”

“I’m afraid Augie’s talking days are all over with,” Luke called back.

There was a moment of silence. Then: “Is that you, Jensen, you blasted bloodhound?”

“The name’s Jensen, right enough,” Luke said. “But the insult to my parentage—the kind of thing I understand you and your late brother knew about firsthand—is as far off the mark as Augie’s attempt to back-shoot me.”

“Are you sayin’ you did for Augie?”

“I’m saying he tried to kill me and I defended myself. I don’t know how to make it any plainer.”

Nothing more was said for several minutes. What had been an eerie silence now took on an ominous overtone.

Oscar was far enough back that the canyon walls had echoed his words somewhat, making it difficult for Luke to judge how far. Nor, no matter how hard he peered around the slope of rock he’d moved behind, could he pick up any sign of movement from the big man. The canyon in that direction bent slightly to the south after about forty yards. Luke guessed that was where Oscar was hanging back, just around that bend. That meant he didn’t have a very clear line of sight on Luke, either.

Luke licked his lips and glanced again at his fallen horse. If Oscar was indeed around that bend some forty yards to the west, and the horse was about twenty feet diagonally toward the east, maybe he had a chance to retrieve his Winchester after all. He could make a desperate dash and dive in behind the horse, using its carcass for cover. From there he’d have access to his rifle and plenty of ammunition and even a canteen of water in case of a prolonged gun battle with Oscar.

The only trouble with that notion—apart from the risk of making the dash in the first place—would be that falling behind the horse carcass would leave him pinned down once again. Sure, he’d have plenty of cartridges to throw lead with, but if Oscar was cautious about keeping to cover himself, they could play a game of duck and shoot that might drag on for hours without either of them gaining an advantage.

Luke didn’t like the thought of that.

His gaze once more touched on the crumpled, half-buried body of Augie and another idea started to form in his head. Oscar wasn’t all that much brighter than Augie had been. Maybe Luke’s previous plan to try and needle a Turpin brother into doing something stupid was worth another try.

“You know, Oscar,” he called after some quick consideration, “could be I’m mistaken about how bad a shape your brother is in. Could even be that he’s still got some life left in him.”

“What kind of crawfishin’ talk is that?” Oscar demanded. “Either you shot him and kilt him, or you didn’t. I reckon you’ve plugged enough men in your time to know the difference.”

Luke smiled. He sensed he’d succeeded in hooking the barb in Oscar.

“You see, that’s the thing. I didn’t actually shoot Augie. I was shooting at him when part of that canyon wall came loose and he got caught in a rockslide. He’s lying over there in the rubble. No doubt he’s hurt pretty bad and I haven’t seen him move or anything . . . but it could be he’s still alive and breathing in there.”

Oscar cursed again. “That’s mighty lowdown, tauntin’ me that way about my brother’s life.”

“And him trying to kill me—from the back—wasn’t lowdown?”

“You been doggin’ us for days. You been askin’ for it!”

“Okay,” Luke grated. “So now I’m asking something else—you man enough to finish the job face-on? You sent Augie to do the dirty work, to sneak around and try to take me out like a yellow cur. Now he’s left crushed and maybe dying a slow death. You going to keep hanging back, just blowing hot air and talking mean, or are you ready to take a turn at coming for me and maybe having the chance to still save your brother’s life?”

Things went quiet again for a tense few seconds. This time, however, Luke could hear the sounds of movement from Oscar. Faint grunts of effort, the scrape of a boot against rock. And then came a sharp intake of breath and Luke recognized it meant that Oscar had moved to where he was able to finally see what was left of his brother.

“Augie . . . !” The name came out in a mournful groan.

“I don’t think he can help you now,” Luke said, poking the barb deeper.

“Shut up!” Oscar roared. And then, almost immediately, his voice broke and softened into a barely audible whimper. “Oh, Augie . . . I’m so sorry . . .”

“Look there!” Luke said suddenly and with exaggerated urgency. “Did you see that, Oscar? Did his arm just move a little bit, or was it only a piece of his shirt stirring in the breeze? Maybe he heard your voice and he’s trying to signal you, begging you to come help him before—”

“Shut up, I told you!” Oscar roared again. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“I think that’s a question it’s time to ask yourself,” Luke responded, really laying on the taunting tone in his voice. “You’re partly responsible for Augie being in that condition. Is that enough? Is that all you’re going to do, besides whimpering and saying you’re sorry? Or are you going to make me pay and maybe—just maybe—try to get to Augie in time to—”

“You’re damn right you’re gonna pay!” Oscar bellowed, his rage making his voice ring out louder than ever. He burst around the bend of the canyon and came rushing forward in long, lumbering strides. He held a Henry repeating rifle at waist level and began shooting from the hip, levering and firing round after round as he ran. With a maniacal fire dancing in his eyes, he screamed, “I’m comin’ for you, Augie! Comin’ for revenge and to save you!”

Even though he’d been trying to provoke some kind of response along these lines, the suddenness and recklessness of it still caught Luke a bit off guard. What was more, the accuracy of the volley Oscar threw ahead of himself as he launched his frantic charge came too close for comfort. Luke was forced to jerk back momentarily as bullets came whistling in and blasted away slices of the rock slope he stood behind, mere inches from where his face had been peering around it just a fraction of a second earlier.

After those first few moments, though, it really was no contest. It became just a matter of bringing the trackdown of the Turpin twins to a grim, bloody conclusion. Though the terms of the wanted posters issued on them were “Dead or Alive,” Luke had been hoping, as he always did, to take them in upright in their saddles. But for the sake of his own survival, that option was closed to him, first by Augie and now Oscar.

Dropping low, where he wouldn’t be expected to re-appear, Luke leaned suddenly out around the base of the sloping rock and returned Oscar’s fire. Although his breath was now coming in hard puffs and he was starting to slow, the big man had covered a surprising amount of ground from where he’d started, and the Henry was still spitting flame and lead.

Meaning to give his target one more chance to come out of this alive, Luke extended his right-hand Remington and fired three rounds, aiming to cut Oscar’s legs out from under him. He succeeded, planting lead in each of the man’s heavy thighs and sending him crashing to the ground. The Henry went flying from his grasp.

Wanting to believe he’d brought this to an end, Luke straightened up and eased cautiously out from behind his cover. He kept the gun in his right fist leveled on the fallen man while his left hand rested on the butt of the still-holstered Remington.

“Just lay real still, Oscar,” he said in a steady voice. “Hold your hands out away from your body and don’t try anything foolish.”

“You’ve crippled me,” Oscar groaned, dust puffing up from where his mouth was pressed against the ground.

“You’re wounded but still alive,” Luke told him. “You don’t know but what a good doctor can fix those legs so you’ll be able to walk fine.”

“For what? So I can walk up the gallows steps?” After those words, Oscar issued a different noise, a mixture of another groan and an agonized animal sound. “No! I ain’t goin’ thataway!”

He jabbed his hand in where his bulging stomach was mashed to the ground and clawed at the waistband of his trousers.

“Don’t try it, Oscar!” Luke warned.

But it was no use. A second later, Oscar’s hand pulled free and this time it was gripping a short-barreled Colt revolver that he tried to swing in Luke’s direction.

The Remington spoke one more time. A red-rimmed hole appeared above Oscar’s left eyebrow and a chunky mist of scarlet sprayed out the back of his head. His face and the revolver dropped simultaneously to the ground.

Luke stood very still for a long count. Then, holstering the Remy, he said in a husky voice, “You had your chance. Now you can walk into hell on those crippled legs.”

The first thing Luke did was walk up the canyon and collect the Turpin horses before they wandered off. Luckily, Oscar had shown the sense to hobble the animals so they wouldn’t be spooked by the sound of gunfire. Luke followed suit, hobbling the pair once again after he got them back to the ambush site, ensuring that neither the scent of fresh blood nor the touch of a stranger would make them want to scatter.

Then came the task of loading the two dead bodies onto the back of the sturdiest-looking of the two horses, a deep-chested paint. It was only early May, but the sun was climbing steadily higher and hotter in the cloudless Montana sky and there was precious little in the way of shade in the canyon. Luke knew that by noon the rocks all around him would be blistering to the touch and he wanted to be out of here before then.

The task of loading a . . .