Ralph Compton the Trail's End (The Sundown Riders Series) - Softcover

Ripley, E. L.; Compton, Ralph

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593102401 ISBN 13: 9780593102404

Verlag: Berkley, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

In this brand-new, suspenseful Ralph Compton Western, a reformed gambler races to unmask a murderer.

After years as a professional gambler—and a deadly shootout on a riverboat casino—Tom Calvert and his young protégé, Asher Smith, have survived an arduous journey across the frontier to Friendly Field, Idaho. The bucolic Quaker community welcomes them with open arms, and soon Tom is courting a widow and learning, to his surprise, to enjoy the quiet life.

Then an elder of Friendly Field is found murdered, and the townsfolk start whispering about the work of the devil. Tom doesn’t believe in the devil, just the evil that men do, and he resolves to solve the gruesome crime before fear causes the people of peaceful little Friendly Field to turn against one another.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Ralph Compton stood six foot eight without his boots. He worked as a musician, a radio announcer, a songwriter, and a newspaper columnist. His first novel, The Goodnight Trail, was a finalist for the Western Writers of America Medicine Pipe Bearer Award for best debut novel. He was the USA Today bestselling author of the Trail of the Gunfighter series, the Border Empire series, the Sundown Riders series, and the Trail Drive series, among others.

E. L. Ripley has a background of military service and social work. He wrote his first novel when he was fifteen and has been writing ever since. His novels have been praised as "a fast-paced and engaging intrigue, with characters the reader will be attached to and root for despite their flaws and faults" (Marko Kloos, author of Chains of Command) and "a wild, page-turning ride" (Mike Shepherd, author of Kris Longknife: Unrelenting).

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Chapter One

 

Hills of white flowers rolled like waves, even in the gloom before dawn. They were all closed up, but still pretty and tall enough that one wouldn't so much walk through them as wade. It brought water to mind and made Tom feel light on his feet, which was no small task. He paused, leaning on his walking stick and peering at Asher, who determinedly forged a path ahead.

 

"Kid," he called out.

 

The boy paused and looked back.

 

"What's your hurry?" Tom asked.

 

"I am in no hurry, Mr. Calvert."

 

So Tom was just moving that slowly, eh? He pushed on.

 

Two weeks after arriving in Friendly Field, he still didn't know if he really meant to stay. It hadn't occurred to him that these people might welcome him, even knowing the truth about him. Or most of it, at any rate. He had made a lot of assumptions about these Quakers, and so far just about every one of them had been wrong.

 

"Mr. Calvert?"

 

"I'm coming."

 

"Morning exercise is your ritual, not mine," the boy pointed out.

 

"I take my exercise on the road," Tom shot back. "Not in all this." The boy was leading the way for a change, and it was difficult going among the hills.

 

"It will be worth your while," Asher promised.

 

Tom wasn't so sure. The kid claimed to have found a spectacular bounty of spring mushrooms in the woods. That was all well and good, but Tom couldn't truthfully say that he gave a damn. The kid was excited about it, though. That was what mattered, but Asher might regret wearing himself out before his day even began. On the other hand, the kid had what seemed to be limitless energy. On the trail, he'd managed the bulk of the work himself to keep the wagon rolling. Tom had been deadweight with a bullet in his leg, and the boy had more or less carried them both. He was tougher than he looked.

 

When the sun came up, all these flowers would open, and there would be such a scent that it would make anyone heady. Tom hoped they'd be on their way back by then. He didn't know why the boy wanted to be with him when he went for these walks before dawn. Tom had a good reason for doing it: if he didn't do something with his leg, it would be stiff and painful by midafternoon. That, and the food was entirely too good in Friendly Field. If he didn't make a point to move around, he'd get soft in a hurry.

 

They reached the trees, and Asher stopped. He didn't look back.

 

"Mr. Calvert," he said.

 

"Yeah?" Tom caught up and leaned on his stick, squinting in the gloom. He didn't see any mushrooms.

 

"What possessed you to do that?" The boy was asking about the day that they arrived. He wanted to know why Tom had thrown his story out the window and told the elders of Friendly Field the truth, more or less. It would've been too easy to present themselves as victims of some misfortune or wayfarers seeking salvation.

 

"I'm heavy enough to drag around," he said, rubbing the walking stick absently with his thumb. "Secrets and lies just make me feel heavier."

 

"Secrets and lies are the game of poker," Asher pointed out.

 

"Not exactly, kid."

 

"Were you hoping they would turn you away so you could go on without me?"

 

"Why are you asking?" Tom had to notice the serious look on Asher's face.

 

"Because this life is very different from what I would picture to be to your liking."

 

"Different from what I would picture too," Tom told him frankly. "Turns out, I don't mind it. Do you?"

 

Asher just let his breath out, then took a deep one.

 

"What were you hoping to find here?" Tom asked, because why not? They were well enough acquainted by now for this much surely.

 

"This," the boy said finally.

 

"What?"

 

"What we found is what I had hoped to find," he said, appearing to wake up. He returned Tom's gaze. "It is you that I worry for. No cards, no money. What is there for you?"

 

"Hell, kid, do you want me to leave?"

 

Asher's eyes narrowed. "You have shaved, Mr. Calvert."

 

"Very observant."

 

"So there is something of interest to you."

 

It wasn't a particularly astute observation; in fact, for the boy to be making it just now-he really wasn't paying much attention. But that stood to reason; they had found this place, and everything had changed. Things weren't the way they'd been on the trail. The wagon made for a small world, but this was a community. It wasn't just Tom and Asher anymore, so the boy could have his own life.

 

But he still wanted to get up early and drag Tom off to find mushrooms.

 

"Do you even like mushrooms?"

 

"No, I dislike them," Asher replied, but he forged on. "There are those who enjoy them, though."

 

"And you're sure they aren't the poisonous kind?"

 

The boy halted. "Poisonous kind?"

 

"For God's sake, kid. Your people taught you to talk pretty, but not that?"

 

This was turning into a long hike; ordinarily Tom liked to do a mile each way. They had to be close to twice that now, well beyond the potato fields-but there was no danger of straying onto someone's property. The Quakers were all alone out here; that was what made Tom optimistic that no one would come looking for him.

 

"Hold up a minute, kid."

 

"Another rest?"

 

"No." Tom looked over his shoulder as though there was even the slight possibility anyone might have followed. They were plenty far from the settlement. He unbuttoned his coat and reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, taking out his derringer.

 

Asher's brows rose. "I noticed that you did not volunteer that item."

 

Tom didn't think of the little gun as a weapon; he never had. It was almost too pretty to shoot, with its gold inlay and pearl handles. He'd won it in a poker game from a very pretty woman who he remembered fondly. It was just a trinket for luck.

 

That was, until a while ago when he suddenly found himself with nothing else but a club that he was in no state to use. He'd never bothered buying bullets for a keepsake. That day he'd needed them.

 

He had bullets for it now. They were far enough from the houses that the report of such tiny cartridges wouldn't be heard.

 

"Who do you mean to shoot?" Asher asked, intrigued.

 

"Nobody, kid. I just wonder if I could hit anything with it if I wanted to." The barrel of the gun wasn't even as long as his little finger. All the same, he hefted it in his palm, then lifted it and took aim at a tree some seven or eight yards off.

 

Asher covered his ears, but he didn't have to. The little pop of the pistol would have been a good deal quieter than the constant hammering of nails and timber in Friendly Field during daylight. There was always a new barn, a new window, a new door being put on someone's house. Always. Tom had nearly gotten to where he didn't notice anymore.

 

After a moment the boy looked at him uncertainly.

 

"Why don't you fire?"

 

Tom took his finger off the trigger and lowered the gun, then shook his head.

 

"Sorry, kid. It's a habit. I figured I'd be past it by now."

 

Asher peered at him, and there was a shrewdness there that Tom wasn't accustomed to seeing on him. "Your habit is to be...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Berkley
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2021
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593102401
• ISBN 13: 9780593102404
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 304
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland