Stagecoach to Serenity Read online

  Stagecoach to Serenity

  After Darren Norton shoots Arthur Hamlin dead during a card game, he goes on the run, leaving behind his girlfriend, Sal the Gal. A reward is put up for his capture and bounty hunter Gustavus Greeley is soon on his trail. He catches Norton in the hills and intends to take him back to Serenity by stagecoach to stand trial.

  But there are several other passengers on the stage and the guard is new to the route. Greeley soon begins to wonder if one of them plans to help his prisoner escape. He faces a hard and dangerous journey, with death along the way, before he can bring Norton to justice.

  By the same author

  Incident at Elk Horn

  Stagecoach to Serenity

  Steven Gray

  ROBERT HALE

  © Steven Gray 2018

  First published in Great Britain 2018

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2677-1

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of Steven Gray to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bright lights, loud talk and the music of a honky-tonk piano spilled out from Serenity’s Star Saloon. And when Darren Norton pushed open the batwing doors, his nose was assailed by the smells of cigarette smoke, whiskey and sweat.

  Not that on a Wednesday night the saloon was crowded, but several cowboys lined the bar or stood around the piano player singing bawdy songs. A couple of girls – neither anywhere near as pretty as Sal the Gal but wearing dresses cut low enough to be interesting – worked the room. Best of all, a poker game was underway at a corner table. All four players were townsmen and would be easy to cheat. Norton didn’t recognize three of them but, even better still, the fourth was Arthur Hamlin. He grinned. It would be a pleasure to take that young idiot’s money from him. Again!

  Another quick glance round showed that Marshal Rayner wasn’t in evidence. Nor was his deputy, Frank Evans, the eager young lawman with whom he’d had several run-ins and who was just longing for any sort of excuse to throw him in jail.

  Norton went up to the bar. ‘Bottle of whiskey.’

  ‘You got the money?’ The bartender knew him of old.

  ‘Sure.’ Norton threw several coins on the bar.

  ‘Honestly come by?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Well, come by anyway.

  Norton poured himself a glass of the whiskey and after downing it in one go, rested his elbows on the bar and surveyed the poker players. Quickly he calculated how much money they were betting with and what the stakes were likely to be on each game. Not a fortune, but enough. He wasn’t concerned about the three older men or even about the money, not really, but, boy, did he want to beat Arthur.

  Arthur was the same age as him, twenty-five, and almost as tall. There the resemblance ended. Norton was broad-shouldered and his skin was tanned from spending most of the time outdoors. His hands were calloused. He had long and untidy black hair and was unshaven. He wore comfortable clothes and boots. And while he did odd jobs now and then, he mostly lived by his wits. Or his fists. Even his pistol on occasion.

  Whereas Arthur was the respectable son of the respectable owner of the gun-shop. He looked like the townsman he was, with pallid skin and unblemished hands. Hell, he wore store-bought suits and shoes. And he was so boring he’d probably never done anything wrong in his whole life.

  Almost from the day Norton rode into Serenity, the pair had made it plain neither could abide the other.

  The gamblers finished their game. Clutching his glass and the bottle, Norton sauntered over to the table. ‘Room for another player?’

  Arthur didn’t look pleased but the other three, even though they were probably aware of Norton’s reputation, didn’t raise any objection. One of them got to his feet and gathering up the little money left in front of him, said, ‘I’m out anyway. I ain’t had a good night and I’ve lost too much as it is. I ain’t losing any more. You can take my place, mister, and good luck to you.’

  Luck, as far as Norton was concerned, rarely came into his game.

  ‘We don’t want any trouble, Darren,’ Arthur said.

  Norton spread his hands as if to say ‘who me?’. ‘Just wanna play poker is all. Here.’ He poured out generous drinks for them all. ‘I’m in funds at the moment.’

  ‘That might change by the end of the evening,’ the man opposite him said.

  Norton laughed. No chance of that.

  Arthur grimaced. ‘Who did you rob to get so much money?’

  ‘No one,’ Norton said indignantly. ‘Did some work for Old Man Henderson down at the livery. You can ask him iffen you don’t believe me.’

  Of course Arthur was right: he had also committed robbery. He’d fooled the lone traveller he’d helped with his horse into telling him where he was going once he left Serenity. Then he’d followed him, held him up and stolen his money. And beaten him so badly, with a warning he’d get more of the same if he showed his face in town again, that Norton knew the stranger wouldn’t dare come back and report the theft to the marshal. Arthur didn’t need to know any of that.

  ‘We goin’ to play cards or not?’ the other man said. ‘Your deal, Arthur.’

  Somewhat sulkily, Arthur shuffled the pack. Norton thought that if the young man had any sense he’d get up and walk away from the game. It was probably what he wanted to do, but pride wouldn’t let him. He wouldn’t want anyone wondering if he was afraid of Norton, especially Norton himself. Darren grinned. That suited him. This way he could get the better of the pompous bastard!

  Norton deliberately lost a game here and there, just to make it look good. As he’d thought, the stakes weren’t high but that was okay. Better to win small amounts steadily rather than such large pots that the other men would get worked up and suspicious or angry. No one would miss what they were losing, even though they lost nearly every hand.

  He was aware of Arthur studying him more than he was studying his cards, trying to catch him out. That just made Arthur easier to beat.

  At one point one of the girls came over and draped herself over Norton’s shoulders, trying to attract his attention. He made it clear he wasn’t interested. Naturally she didn’t bother Arthur. Everyone knew Arthur was engaged to be married to a girl, Irene someone or the other, from a nearby ranch and that he, poor sap, remained faithful to her, whatever the temptation.

  In his own way Norton was faithful to Sal the Gal; well, not exactly faithful but she’d always be his first choice, even though she was so damned expensive he couldn’t often afford her. There would be hell to pay if she found out he sometimes resorted to cheaper girls and Norton hoped she never would; Sal’s temper was best avoided. Luckily tonight with the way things were going, with no one suspecting a thing, once he left the saloon he’d have enough cash in his pocket to be able to go to Queenie’s brothel and pay for a whole night with Sal. Boy, was he looking forward to that! Queenie might not like or approve of him, but she never tu
rned down money.

  Just one more game and he’d call it quits. It was then that everything that had been going right, went very, very wrong. Quite how Norton wasn’t sure.

  The amount he’d drunk might have had something to do with it, causing him to get cocky and careless. Maybe he was over-anxious to teach Arthur a lesson. Or maybe his mind was on Sal.

  But. . . .

  ‘Hey!’ Arthur suddenly yelled. ‘You cheat, Darren, I knew it! You cheated! I saw you.’

  Taken by surprise, Norton stood up so abruptly his chair was knocked to the floor. For a moment the room seemed to whirl around him and he grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself.

  ‘No I didn’t,’ he started to protest.

  ‘You’re not fooling me. You’re holding four Queens.’ Before Norton could stop him, Arthur got to his feet as well and reached out to turn over the five cards laying on the table. Sure enough, besides the two of spades there were the Queens of Hearts, Spades, Diamonds and Clubs. Arthur stared in triumph at Darren while the other two players began to get shocked and furious.

  ‘I always knew you were a damn cheat, Darren, and now I’ve caught you at it. Hey, barkeep, send for the marshal.’

  While cheating at cards hardly warranted calling in the law, the bartender was only too happy to oblige. Norton had caused enough trouble at The Star in the past that it would be a pleasure to see him locked up or, better yet, run out of town, however flimsy the excuse. And Rayner, who was getting fed up with Darren’s antics, would be only too happy to oblige.

  Norton was aware that everything in the saloon had come to a halt, the place suddenly quiet and still. Most people hated cheats and everyone stared at him, holding their breath. He was caught fair and square.

  He didn’t waste time in protesting his innocence. Instead he lost his temper and his wits and, pulling his gun from its holster, shot Arthur between the eyes.

  Arthur dropped to the floor, stone cold dead, look of triumph still on his face.

  ‘You damn fool!’ one of the other players shouted, while a girl screamed and the rest of the saloon’s customers dived for whatever cover they could find.

  ‘Marshal’s on his way!’

  ‘Get the bastard!’

  ‘Don’t try anything,’ Norton warned. ‘Or I’ll shoot.’

  ‘Watch out,’ someone cried unnecessarily.

  He was aware of dazed faces and scared, irate eyes accusing him.

  With a shaky hand, he kept his gun trained on those nearest him. At the same time, he picked up as much money as he could from the table, stuffing coins and notes into his pockets. Fearing he’d wasted too much time already and that Marshal Rayner would be here before he could escape, he swiftly backed to the doors and slid out into the cold night air.

  Several horses waited outside, tied to the hitching post. Gulping for breath, heart pounding, with hands that shook violently, he somehow managed to untie the reins of the one nearest to him. He vaulted into the saddle. What did horse-theft matter when he’d just committed murder?

  With yells and shots following him, he spurred away into the night. He was soon swallowed up by the darkness.

  What had he done? Why? He couldn’t believe what had happened. He had to blink away tears of remorse and fear.

  Robbery at gunpoint was one thing, beating up his victim sometimes necessary, cheating at cards quite acceptable. But shooting a young man in cold blood – especially when that young man was well liked and well respected, in front of a dozen or more witnesses – was just about the stupidest and most senseless thing he’d ever done. Appalling too. He might not have liked Arthur, but that didn’t mean he’d wanted to kill him.

  Norton’s only excuse was that while he was completely sober now, he’d been drunk and drink had made him furious and frightened. He’d reacted to the accusation without thought.

  Now he must ride fast and ride far. Forget all about Sal the Gal. For now anyway. Surely he could outwit Marshal Rayner and whatever posse he might raise. He had money with him. He’d be okay. He must get away or face the hangman’s noose for sure.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The posse lost Norton’s trail where it came out of a dry creek-bed and promptly disappeared in the brush and scrub. Marshal Rayner and the men with him rode up and down the canyon floor in all directions and even up to the rim of the hill overlooking the canyon. They found no sign of the man they were chasing.

  The hastily assembled posse had set out after Darren Norton at daybreak and had been out for almost three days now. Rayner had known it was always going to be difficult to catch him.

  Although Frank Evans was a reasonably good tracker, Norton had had a long start on them. Not only that, but instead of riding for the desert where he, or at least his dust, would be easy to spot, he’d headed for the foothills. There whenever Evans found his trail it was quickly lost amongst the rocks and shale and streams. Now night was yet again almost here and by morning Norton could be miles away.

  Rayner hated to admit defeat, but he could see no point in going on.’We’ll have to go back to Serenity,’ he told the other men.

  Most of them looked relieved; they had families and jobs waiting for them. But not so his deputy.

  ‘We can’t just let the bastard get away,’ Evans objected. He was a determined and capable young man, who’d only recently been appointed as a deputy marshal. He was eager to uphold the law and he’d been a good friend of Arthur Hamlin’s too. ‘Not after what he did.’ He raised eyes to the top of the ridge as if willing Norton to appear there so they could resume the chase.

  ‘Believe me, Frank, I don’t like it either.’ Rayner sighed and pushed his hat to the back of his head, wiping sweat away from his forehead with his bandanna. ‘But we’re just chasing our tails. And all the while we stay out here it just gives the bastard more time to slip away and never be found.’

  ‘Suppose you’re right,’ Evans nodded reluctantly. ‘What are you goin’ to do?’

  ‘When we get back to town, I’ll send messages out to the law in all the towns between here and the border and at every railroad halt – never mind the cost! – asking that a watch be kept out for him. And if it ain’t been done already, I’ll get the Town Council to put up some reward money for his capture so a Wanted Poster can be issued. He’ll be caught before long, don’t worry.’

  ‘I hope so. I surely want to see the bastard hanged until he’s good and dead.’

  Rayner clapped his deputy on the back. ‘Me too.’

  Sal the Gal stood before the cheval mirror in her room at the brothel, admiring her reflection. Yes, she would do. So would the new black dress that was cut so tight and low it showed off her splendid figure, hinting what was underneath the silky material.

  She was a beautiful girl of twenty-three with hair that hung in curls down to her waist, blue eyes, pale skin and an innocent face. And all that despite the fact she had been a prostitute since she fled home on her sixteenth birthday. That was the day her abusive father abused her once too often and she stopped him with a knife to his dark heart. Instead of giving thanks for his death, her mother screamed bloody murder and wept for the man who’d regularly beaten them both every Saturday night when he came home drunk from the saloon.

  There and then Sal made up her mind she was never going to be anyone’s victim ever again.

  Growing up, she’d had little in the way of book learning and with no education her choice of career was limited. She could either work long hours in a shop or factory for little pay, at the mercy of yet more men, or as some kind of servant at the mercy of a woman. Or become a prostitute. OK, that involved men too but if she was clever enough it was also a way to earn a fortune, at their expense.

  In order to survive, she’d always had to be calculating and shrewd and starting out on her chosen career was no different. She’d turned herself into a girl every man fantasized over and straight off she’d proved a success; partly because in the main she enjoyed what she did and mostly because, even
when she didn’t, she was still able to fool her clients into thinking they were special.

  Now she felt she was experienced enough to run a brothel of her own. To be the madam. Able to sit back and rake in the profits while other girls entertained the customers, although, for old times sake, she might entertain one or two favourites.

  She’d liked Darren Norton from the first moment she saw him. He was good-looking and funny. She liked the way he looked at her with adoration in his eyes and, even more, how he loved her and how he did what she told him to. She liked his body and she even liked the fact that they could be friends as well as lovers, something she had never experienced before. A short while ago she’d suggested to him that they go into business together; his brawn and her looks and know-how would surely be a winning combination. They could move to San Francisco where there were fortunes just waiting to be made.

  Naturally he’d agreed and left her to decide when the time was right. And then the idiot had gone and shot the Hamlin boy. All over a stupid game of poker.

  Right now she was furious with him for letting her down.

  The door opened and Queenie came in, without knocking of course. The madam was in her fifties, short, ugly and incredibly plump from all the chocolates she ate. She had a heart of stone and ruled the brothel with the help of a cane and the huge ruffian she employed to keep order.

  Sal had worked for her since her arrival in Serenity a couple of years ago. At first, being two of a kind thinking only of themselves and how to exploit others, they had gotten along reasonably well. These days Sal was getting increasingly fed up with Queenie’s high-handed manner and casual cruelty and at taking orders from her when she didn’t need anyone telling her what to do. She was also sure that the madam regularly cheated her and the other girls out of some of what they earned.