Hired Gun Page 2

  “What the . . .”

  Both outlaws looked around in a panic, trying to figure out where the speaker was hiding.

  “Put your hands up where we can see them,” Trent ordered.

  Hunt looked over at Anderson, guessing it was a posse from Dry Gulch that had them trapped. He had no idea how they’d managed to sneak up so close without being seen or heard, but that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was finding a way to escape. Hunt knew what he had to do, and he hoped his partner was smart enough to take advantage of the distraction he was going to cause.

  “All right!” Hunt called back, lifting his hands.

  Anderson followed his lead, as he always did.

  “Now, stand up—real slow!” Trent directed.

  It was then that Hunt made his move. Acting as though he were getting up, he leaned forward, but instead of getting to his feet, he scooped up two handfuls of the sandy soil and threw them directly on the fire. Hunt hoped the dirt would kill the flames and give him and Anderson the cover of darkness they needed to make a run for it. He grabbed up his gun and began firing in the direction of the man’s voice as his partner did the same thing.

  His ploy almost worked, but Trent and Old Jim had been expecting trouble. They returned fire, and their shots found their marks. They took down both of the outlaws before they could flee into the night.

  Trent moved cautiously into the campsite to check on the gunmen. He had never killed a man before, and he was tense and uneasy as he made certain they were dead.

  Old Jim had been staying back to cover Trent, but he joined him then. “You all right?”

  “I am now,” he answered.

  Trent felt no joy at the outlaws’ deaths, only a deep satisfaction that his brother had been avenged and the two deadly gunmen would never hurt anyone again.

  “Let’s take them in.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Silver Mesa, Arizona Territory

  Ten Years Later

  Sheriff Ben Wallace looked up from his desk as the door to his office opened and a stranger walked in. Ben eyed the man warily. Tall, lean, and dressed in black, he wore his gun as if he knew how to use it, and moved with a confidence that would set him apart in any crowd. The lawman realized immediately that the man had a dangerous, hard edge about him, and he wondered who he was and what he was doing in Silver Mesa. Things had been reasonably quiet in town lately, and he wanted it to stay that way.

  “Afternoon,” Sheriff Wallace greeted the stranger, pushing his chair back from his desk and getting to his feet. “What can I do for you?”

  “My name’s Trent Marshall,” Trent answered, stepping up to the desk.

  Sheriff Wallace frowned slightly. The name sounded vaguely familiar to him, and he struggled to place it. “Nice to meet you. What brings you to Silver Mesa?”

  “I’m here on business.”

  “What kind of business?”

  Trent reached into his pocket and drew out a business card. He handed it over to the sheriff as he explained, “The Central Stage Line hired me to bring in the outlaw Matt Sykes.”

  Sheriff Wallace stared down at the business card that read, MARSHALL’S LAW—TRENT MARSHALL, GUN FOR HIRE, and he suddenly understood why the name had sounded familiar to him. He’d heard talk from other lawmen about how successful this man was at tracking down killers.

  Trent went on, “Sykes and his partner robbed a stage and killed the driver and the man riding shotgun. His partner’s already been arrested, but Sykes is still on the run, and I have reason to believe he might be in the area.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “No. I work alone.”

  “Good luck to you.” Sheriff Wallace eyed him with renewed respect. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  The two men shook hands and parted ways.

  The lawman watched the hired gun leave his office. He hadn’t heard that Sykes was in town, but if the killer was anywhere around, he felt certain Trent Marshall would find him.

  Later that night, Matt Sykes entered the noisy, crowded Sundown Saloon in Silver Mesa. It was a rowdy bar that catered to a rough crowd, and he’d been frequenting it ever since he’d arrived in town several days before. Sykes had money to spend, and he enjoyed spending it on the hard liquor served in the saloon and the pretty girls who worked there.

  Harry, the bartender, saw him coming and wasted no time pouring him a glass of whiskey. He shoved it across the bar to Sykes when he stopped before him.

  “That’s what I like about your place here, Harry,” Sykes told the bartender as he picked up the glass and took a deep drink of the potent liquor. “Fast service and good whiskey.”

  “We aim to please,” he answered.

  “Yes, we do,” added a very buxom bar girl wearing a very low-cut gown as she came to stand close beside Sykes. Missie pressed enticingly up against him, affording him a good view of her bosom. She remembered him well from the night before. He was far from being the best-looking man in the place, with his scraggly hair and several days’ growth of beard, but she knew his pockets were well lined, and she had a special fondness for big spenders.

  Sykes put an arm around Missie and pulled her closer as he took another drink. His gaze dropped hungrily to the bodice of her gown.

  “There was a stranger in here looking for you earlier,” Harry told him.

  Sykes stiffened at the news and quickly turned a cold-eyed look on the barkeep. “Did you get his name?”

  “No. He didn’t say.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to know if you were in town.”

  “And what did you tell him?” He tensed.

  “I told him I didn’t know you.” Harry had learned over the years to keep his mouth shut.

  “Where is he now? Is he still here?” Sykes glanced around the saloon, looking for any new faces among the crowd.

  “No. He left, and I ain’t seen him since.”

  “How long ago did he leave?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  Sykes finished off his drink. He’d been keeping a low profile ever since he’d pulled off a stagecoach robbery a few weeks back with his partner, Billy Winter. He hadn’t thought anyone would be able to catch up with him after they’d split up, but it looked like he’d been wrong. “What did he look like?”

  “He’s tall and got dark hair. Had a mean look about him. He could be trouble,” Harry warned.

  Sykes frowned. The description he’d just been given could match any of a hundred men he knew. “I’ll keep a look out for him. Thanks.”

  Sykes handed his glass back to Harry for a refill and turned his attention back to the beauty beside him. He’d come to Silver Mesa to lie low for a while and enjoy living large with his share of the money from the robbery. Tonight he was going to do just that. He had Missie to entertain him, and he planned to join a big, high-stakes poker game going on in the back room. He’d find out more about the stranger in the morning.

  Trent lingered in his hotel room, trying to figure out what to do next. Earlier that evening he had made the rounds of the saloons in Silver Mesa and had made no headway in his search for Matt Sykes. Even so, he wasn’t about to give up. He had a feeling he was close, and he’d learned over the years to trust his instincts, thanks to Old Jim. Old Jim had died a few years before, and, though he had taught him well, there were still times when Trent missed his wisdom and insight.

  Picking up the wanted poster, Trent studied the likeness of the outlaw again. It wasn’t a skillful drawing, but it was a clear enough rendition that Trent knew he’d recognize the killer if he saw him. He folded up the poster and put it in his pocket, strapped on his gun belt, and left the hotel room. He wanted to check around town one last time before calling it a night. He particularly wanted to pay another visit to the Sundown Saloon. The bartender there had seemed a little edgy when he’d asked about Sykes earlier, and it made him wonder if the man had something to hide.

  Trent made his way to the
Sundown and went in. He stood just inside the swinging doors to take a quick look around the crowded saloon. He saw no sign of Sykes, so he made his way to the bar to have a drink.

  “What’ll it be?” Harry asked.

  “Whiskey,” Trent answered, turning to lean back against the bar so he was facing the room. “You’re busy tonight.”

  “The boys know there’s always a good time to be had here,” Harry answered as he gave Trent his drink. Then he asked, “Did you have any luck finding the man you were looking for?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe he’s moved on.”

  “Maybe.”

  Harry saw the determined look in the stranger’s eyes and turned away to wait on someone else. He knew Sykes was in the back room playing poker, and he hoped the man stayed there. Harry was considering finding a way to send someone back to warn him that the stranger had shown up again, but before he could take any action, the door to the back room flew open and Sykes came out, with Missie clinging to his arm, gazing up at him adoringly.

  “Drinks are on me!” Sykes shouted, waving a fistful of dollars triumphantly as he crossed the room.

  At the prospect of free drinks, all the drunks in the saloon erupted in cheers and hurried up to the bar to get their liquor.

  Harry quickly began pouring the rounds as Sykes sat down at a nearby table and pulled Missie onto his lap. He kissed her hotly as he stuffed a large wad of dollars down her bodice, openly groping her in the process. In his drunken excitement over winning the big pot in the poker game, he’d forgotten Harry’s earlier warning about the stranger who was in town looking for him. This was his lucky night.

  Trent recognized Sykes the minute he came out of the back room, but knew this wasn’t the time to confront the killer. He didn’t want to risk anyone else getting hurt in a possible shoot-out. Taking advantage of the chaos the free drink offer had created, Trent walked out of the saloon unnoticed. He found a quiet, secluded spot a short distance down the street with a clear view of the main doors and waited there. Sooner or later, Sykes would have to come out of the Sundown Saloon, and when he did, Trent would be ready for him.

  Once things had calmed down at the bar, Harry went over to the table where Missie was entertaining Sykes.

  “That fella who was looking for you came in again while you were in back playing poker.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me he was here?” Sykes demanded angrily, feeling uneasy.

  “I couldn’t. Not with him standing right there at the bar. If I’d gone running off to tell you, he would have followed me. He’s gone now, but I wanted to let you know he’s still in town.”

  Sykes managed to unlink Missie’s arms from around his neck and shoved her from him as he got to his feet.

  Missie sensed the change in his mood and hurried to get away from him. She didn’t want to risk becoming a victim of his drunken temper.

  “Did you see him leave?”

  “No.”

  Sykes swore under his breath as he started toward the swinging doors. “Well, let’s go. You’re coming with me. We’re going to go find him and see what it is he’s after.”

  “I can’t leave the Sundown right now,” Harry argued, sensing that there might be trouble ahead. “I have to tend bar.”

  “You’re the only one who knows what this man looks like,” Sykes said. “Missie can take care of things for you while we’re gone. Ain’t that right, Missie?”

  “Sure. I can do it, Harry.”

  Leaving Missie to tend bar and keep all the boys happy, Harry reluctantly accompanied Sykes from the saloon.

  Trent had kept a careful watch, and when Sykes emerged from the saloon, he was ready. He was surprised to see that the bartender was with him, but the other man’s presence wasn’t going to stop him. He’d come a long way looking for Sykes, and now that he’d found him, he wasn’t going to let him get away. Trent drew his gun and stepped out of the shadows to confront the outlaw.

  “Hold it right there, Sykes!” Trent ordered.

  Harry recognized him instantly and told Sykes, “That’s him! That’s the man I was telling you about!”

  When Harry saw that the stranger had his gun drawn, he turned tail and ran back inside, leaving Sykes to face the man alone.

  Sykes went still. He warily watched the man, who was walking slowly toward him with his gun in hand. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “My name’s Trent Marshall. Unbuckle your gun belt and let it drop,” Trent directed. “I’m here to take you in.”

  Sykes recognized the name and panicked.

  “Like hell you are!” he shouted as he went for his gun. He fired wildly and ran for cover.

  Trent had expected that the outlaw wouldn’t be taken in without a fight, and he’d been right. He, too, dove for cover as he fired at the fleeing killer.

  His aim was true.

  Sykes’s gun flew from his hand as Trent’s bullet found its mark. The outlaw collapsed and lay unmoving in the night-shrouded street.

  Gun in hand, Trent got up and cautiously moved toward Sykes. He picked up the outlaw’s gun, then went to check on him.

  As soon as the gunfire had stopped, Harry and the patrons of the saloon had crowded up to the swinging doors to find out what had happened. They saw Sykes lying in the street with the stranger standing over him holding a gun on him, and they weren’t sure what to do. A few of the men thought about confronting the man who’d just shot Sykes, but they held back when they saw Sheriff Wallace come running up to the scene, gun in hand. They would let the law handle it.

  “So the killer was right here in town . . .” the lawman remarked as he came to stand beside Trent.

  “Yes, he was,” Trent said. Once he was certain Sykes was dead, he slowly holstered his gun. He glanced at the sheriff. “And he won’t be causing anyone any more trouble.”

  “You’re right. He won’t,” Sheriff Wallace agreed. He looked over at the hired gun with even greater respect as he holstered his own sidearm. The man had just proven that all the talk he’d heard about him was true. When it came to tracking down killers who were on the run and bringing them to justice, Trent Marshall was the best.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Coyote Canyon

  It was getting late as Trent concluded his meeting at the stage office with Cal Harris, the representative of the stage line. They stood up from where they’d been sitting at the desk and shook hands.

  “Fine job, Trent,” Cal praised him. He fully appreciated the danger Trent had faced apprehending Sykes over in Silver Mesa. “What are you going to do next?”

  “I’m going to take it easy for a while,” Trent answered. The weeks he’d spent tracking down Sykes had taken their toll on him. He needed some rest.

  “That sounds like a good idea. You deserve it. Why don’t you stop by the social that’s going on in town tonight? It’s one of the highlights of the year for the folks here in Coyote Canyon. People come from miles around to enjoy the food and dancing.”

  “I just may do that,” he replied as he started toward the door. First and foremost in his mind was his plan to head to the nearest saloon and have a drink. After that, he could always stop by the social before heading back to the room he’d taken at the small hotel in town. He’d stopped there only long enough to get cleaned up before his meeting with Cal, but when he went back, he planned on getting his first good night’s sleep in a long time.

  “Trent,” Cal called to him.

  Trent turned back.

  “Thanks again.” Cal was grateful for the man’s hard work and expertise.

  Trent nodded and let himself out of the office, closing the door behind him. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, enjoying the peace of the night. He could hear the music coming from the social, but he was more in the mood for a drink. He remembered the saloon he’d passed on his ride into town, and he headed that way.

  Faith Ryan stood at the side of the dance floor with her brother, Mason, watching their younger si
ster, eighteen-year-old Abbie, dance with Rick Taylor, the man who owned the livery stable in Coyote Canyon.

  “Doesn’t your sister look pretty tonight?” Faith said, thinking that the new gown Abbie had had made for this occasion looked wonderful on her.

  “Why are you always looking for compliments?” Mason grinned at her.

  “Oh, you . . .” She laughed. “You know I was talking about Abbie.”

  “I know, and, yes, she does, but then so do you. You both clean up real good,” he teased. The fancy dresses they were wearing were a far cry from the working clothes they wore on the ranch.

  “You should talk,” she countered. “You could almost pass for a city slicker tonight.”

  “Do you feel like dancing with a city slicker?” Mason invited.

  “Why not?”

  They were laughing as he took her out to join the other dancers.

  “This reminds me of when we were little,” he told her, remembering the dancing lessons their mother had given them.

  “Just don’t go stepping on my toes like you used to,” Faith cautioned.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “You’d better.” There was a threatening note in her voice.

  “I’m not scared of you anymore,” Mason countered. “I’m bigger than you are now.”

  “Yeah, but I’m still meaner,” she shot back at him.

  “I won’t argue that point with you.”

  “Smart man.”

  They relaxed and enjoyed the dance.

  Faith looked up at her younger brother, studying his handsome, chiseled features. At nineteen, he bore little resemblance to the pesky, towheaded boy who used to torment her so much when they were young. He had grown into a fine young man who wasn’t a bad dancer.

  “What are you thinking about?” Mason asked, noticing that she was staring at him.

  “I was thinking that you remember your dance lessons pretty well.”

  He grinned again. “So far, so good, but the dance isn’t over yet.”

  They both fell silent, relishing the moment. It wasn’t often that they got to come into town to have fun this way. After their parents’ deaths some years before, Faith had had to take over not only raising her brother and sister, but running the family’s ranch, the Lazy R, as well. It hadn’t been easy for her. She’d been only seventeen at the time, but somehow she’d managed to keep the ranch going. Faith had always been a strongwilled, smart woman, and she’d proven that to anyone who’d doubted her over the last few years. Mason and Abbie were older now, but Faith, at twenty-three, was still considered to be the one in charge.