John Lee Johnson has just retrieved his Texas ranch from the nefarious Purvis Brothers, with considerable help from Federal Agent Levi Brown. Unfortunately, the ex-Confederate has little time to enjoy his ranch before he feels obligated to fulfill a promise he made to a Union officer after a bloody skirmish in Lexington, Tennessee. Before he departs for Ohio, the sheriff warns him about Ridgeway Large, a self-proclaimed half-breed who kills without remorse. Six days into his dangerous journey, John encounters a girl who leads him to the gruesome scene of her parents' brutal murders. After determining Ridgeway Large is the likely suspect, John leaves the girl with friends, ignores his previous obligations, and begins a dangerous quest to find the murderer and kill him. But as soon as surly Union officer Frank McGrew learns of John's mission, he wants nothing more than to exact his revenge for his brother's murder and send the Texan straight to the gates of hell. In this historical thriller, a fierce battle ensues between the indomitable will of rebel John Lee Johnson and the overwhelming hatred of McGrew as both seek retribution. But in the end, only one will stay true to his principles.
John Lee Johnson on the Trail
John Lee Johnson, Back and BadBy Conn HamlettAbbott Press
Copyright © 2012 Conn Hamlett
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4582-0691-6Chapter One
`JOHN LEE JOHNSON ON THE TRAIL
John Lee Johnson pulled up his seventeen-hands high, black horse in front of Big Willard's saloon in Baileysboro, Texas and dismounted. He wheeled the hitch rack with the reins. He tied the packhorse lines over his saddle horn and stepped up on the boardwalk.
He was a singularly impressive looking individual. Johnson stood six feet six inches tall with shoulders a yard wide. His thick neck rippled with sinews and heavy cords of muscle. In the shadow of his black hat brim, his gray eyes scanned the street with animation and thoughtfulness.. His handsome face was covered in three-day whisker stubble. When people saw him they usually took a second look. Around his waist were twin military gun belts. One set carried two ivory handled Navy Colts; two-other guns were wedged in the other set.
Loud rinky-dink music was coming over the batwings. The happy chords seemed to envelop him as he stood and looked over the town. A few months ago, it was overrun by the Purvis brothers and was an imprisoned community, but today it was free. He saw citizens coming and going down the boardwalk and riders riding placidly by.
He took grim satisfaction that he had a hand in the destruction of the nefarious Purvis brothers. That was a positive thing, but there was another favorable thing. He had made a lot of new friends, and one of these was the proprietor of the saloon, a man everyone called "Big Willard."
John sighed as he looked up and down the street and then turned and eased the right swinging door open and entered. Ranch hands and citizens were playing cards, and a thick cloud of cigar smoke wafted in the air.
Big Willard stood at the end of the bar drying whisky glasses and setting them on the polished, wooden bar. He had wide shoulders and a thick chest; muscular forearms extended from the rolled up sleeves of a white shirt. He wore a blue-gray derby hat cocked to one-side. While his face was passive and his eyes were calm, everyone who knew him understood that he was hell with his fists.
Standing less than two-feet away was Big Willard's new bartender and fighter, Monk Danielson, formerly the bodyguard of Bill Purvis. Monk was a massive man with a thick neck and large arms; he had become one of Big Willard's close friends. His simian features had brought about his fearsome nickname, but today he was smiling and laughing and talking animatedly with some of the neighboring ranch hands.
Big Willard was talking to Sheriff Nelson, a whipcord-thin man who had been instrumental in the defeat of the Purvis brothers' tyranny. He had been the county sheriff for over twenty years.
When they saw John enter they stopped their conversation and waved a greeting.
John walked up to the bar and, after catching Monk's eye, was given a full schooner of beer with foam running down the edges. John tossed a dime on the counter, and Monk winked at him, scooped up the dime, and dropped it in the till.
John turned, took a hearty gulp, placed the large mug back on the bar, and sighed. He stretched his large frame straight up, exhaled, and tapped the side of his fist agitatedly on the bar. It was obvious he was nettled about something.
Sheriff Nelson looked over at Big Willard who was watching John with concern. Sheriff Nelson then said, "I heard through the grapevine that you were heading into the Nations."
John shook his head without changing expression and answered, "How do things get around that fast?"
"Makes no difference how fast it gets around; it does."
John nodded and said, "Yeah, guess you're right."
Sheriff Nelson paused and said, "I know those folks in Fort Smith think highly of you, but seems like they would've given you a little time to tend to things."
John shrugged and answered, "I got to go anyway and might as well make the best out of it." He looked down at his beer and added, "If it wasn't for those gents at Fort Smith, I wouldn't have anything."
Big Willard pulled a cigar from his pocket and languidly struck a match, and lit his smoke. He tossed the match in a brass spittoon at the end of the bar. He took a few puffs and asked, "You're going to Quiso, the Indian community, right?"
John nodded.
Sheriff Nelson squinted and said, "For the last few years there has been a badass up near there named `Ridgeway Large.'"
John looked inquiringly at him and asked, "He's not the one causing problems in Quiso is he?"
Sheriff Nelson shook his head. "Bad Boy Leon is the man you'll be dealing with there." He drummed his fingers on the bar and continued. "Ridgeway Large claims to be a half-breed, but I doubt it. A lot of folks claim to be Indian just to get cheap land or to live there." His eyes were more stern when he added, "Or to escape the law."
"I've never heard of Ridgeway Large," John said.
The sheriff sighed and looked evenly at him. "Well, let me inform you. He's a sorry-ass bastard. He kills people. He butchers people. He's been known to just ride up and shoot folks. He can also skulk too. He's been known to bushwhack. He's a large man, and he is tough to handle. He will kill at the drop of a hat and drop his own hat. You be careful when you make camp."
Big Willard snorted and said, "If I know John the way I think I do, maybe Ridgeway Large ought to be worried."
Sheriff Nelson smiled, "Well, I'd say that John would be a poor choice to rob all right." He held up an index finger to make a point. "But John is a big target, and Ridgeway is no stranger to ambushing someone."
John filed that information away in his mind, as he emptied his schooner and placed it gently down. "I got to get going. I was just dreading the damn trip and wanted to spend some time with you boys."
He stood tall and gave a quick but friendly nod to both men and then turned and walked away.
As he exited the saloon, he pulled the watch from his pocket that he had promised to deliver. He looked at it in the sunlight and thought back to the skirmish near Lexington, Tennessee. He could still see the pain and sadness in the Union captain's dying eyes when he asked John to deliver the watch to his brother Cyrus. He cursed his bad luck for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He hated the responsibility that had been thrust on his broad shoulders, but he would not shirk his obligation. He would ride to Ironton, Ohio and see if he could find the captain's brother and be rid of that burden forever. He vowed that he would not make a foolish promise again Although he had not actually said that he would deliver the watch, he knew he was obligated to.
* * *
John rode for five uneventful days. His big stallion trotted steadily and the strong gelding packhorse maintained the grueling pace. John was making forty miles a day, and he figured he was near the Nations or in it.
On the sixth day he came upon a stream at the foot of a hill and saw two hackberry trees that would provide shelter. He placed his tarp over the tree limbs. Next, he rolled some rocks into a circle, broke up some branches, and made a fire.
He set up a metal stand over the flames and started boiling coffee. As he poured some canteen water into an iron skillet to boil some beans, he heard the sound of distant gunfire. At first he heard one gunshot. There was an indefinite pause, and he heard two more shots.
He thumbed up his hat and looked over the horizon. The time between the shots caused him some suspicion. He...
