Gun Law of Phoenix Cline Read online

  Gun Law of Phoenix Cline

  Phoenix Cline had seen the error of his ways and wanted to do something worthwhile with his life. Helping a few indentured Chinese didn’t seem like a bad start. But making dangerous enemies by opposing them, or leaving dead bodies behind, is not the smartest way to escape life as a gunfighter. Seeking a peaceful existence and a woman to love are all Phoenix wants. But when men start shooting at him from ambush or come to town gunning for him, the only law he can make them respect is the Gun Law of Phoenix Cline!

  By the same author

  Yancy’s Luck

  Battle at Lost Mesa

  A Man Called Sundown

  The Shadow Killers

  Spencer’s Law

  The Guns at Three Forks

  The Last Revenge

  High Gun at Surlock

  The Trail to Yuma

  Warrick’s Battle

  A Reckoning at Orphan Creek

  The Killer’s Brand

  Death Comes Riding

  The Legend of Tornado Tess

  Ambush at Lakota Crossing

  No Quarter at Devil’s Fork

  Gun Law of Phoenix Cline

  Terrell L. Bowers

  ROBERT HALE

  © Terrell L. Bowers 2011

  First published in Great Britain 2011

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2435-7

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  This e-book first published in 2017

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of Terrell L. Bowers to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  For some beloved riders of the range who have gone to the Great Beyond ahead of me:

  My father, James L Bowers rode a truck and pulled mobile homes.

  My brothers-in-law, Calvin Carrico rode a tractor as a farmer, and Kyle Kleve loved to ride his Harley Davidson bike.

  Chapter One

  Silver Springs had been a small, peaceful settlement until the railroad came through. It not only brought drifters and pilgrims seeking work or a new life, it also brought in big business and people seeking their fortunes. The trading post and one-room tavern were quickly crushed out of existence by new competition. Many proprietors sold out for what they could get and left. Silver Springs changed from a quiet, sleepy little burg, into a raucous and rowdy wide open town. A freight and transport company opened up along with a new livery and blacksmith shop. Main street grew rapidly, as a dozen new stores sprang up. Huge casinos offered all manner of entertainment: gambling, music, dancehall girls and cheap whiskey. A large hotel and fancy restaurant, the Palace Inn, opened, as did a lumberyard. A new pharmacy-mercantile was built, to compete with the general store that had managed to survive. Thurmond Hildebrand was one of the enterprising businessmen who owned much of the business district, and he wanted even more.

  For a small husband-and-wife business like the Pomeroy House, which sat down a side street and offered rooms and an intimate, small café, the massive growth was a death-blow. They suffered when intense competition and a measure of intimidation closed down the bath house next door. Then the dentist, who lived and worked on the other side of their establishment, was foreclosed on and lost everything he owned. As for Rachel and Grant, they were strapped to survive: pressure and bills mounted, while their business dropped off to almost nothing.

  Grant Pomeroy was not ambitious, nor the best of husbands. He had married Rachel at the behest of his father, Nathan, who became ill and forced his irresponsible son to take a wife and settle down. Rachel had wanted to escape the constant hunger and poverty of her own family, plus the drudgery of working sixteen hour days to tend and care for the nine younger children in the family. She had no schooling and few suitors, because she never went anywhere without several children in tow. Nathan Pomeroy offered Rachel’s parents fifty dollars, plus a wagon and team, as an inducement for their daughter’s hand and they practically dragged her to the altar.

  To complete his plan for his son’s future, Nathan put up the bulk of his money to buy the two-storey inn in Silver Springs. He also provided them with a hundred dollars for expenses. It should have been enough to keep them going until the place could earn a living. It would have, if not for the sudden population explosion and competition moving in all along the main street of town. They were left scrambling to pay the bills and Grant soon borrowed to stay afloat. Now he had run out of credit, there was a bank note against the place, and they barely kept food on hand to serve the customers. Worst of all, Hildebrand wanted their property so he could expand his own holdings. He appointed his own man as a judge, then added a sheriff and a couple of bullies as deputies. Considering his wealth and influence, it seemed only a matter of time before Rachel and Grant were pushed out of their home and business.

  Rachel worked hard and never complained. It would have done little good if she had, as Grant was taciturn, moody and had never shown any real affection for her. Just the opposite, he blamed her as much as his father for being trapped in a position he didn’t like. He had been a happy, shiftless bachelor, wandering about without a care, seldom doing any real work and never forced to shoulder any responsibility. Being burdened with a wife and a business propelled him into a brooding seclusion. With the debts mounting and the added pressure of an ailing father, he began to want nothing more than an escape from his predicament . . . and Rachel as well.

  Everything came to a head the day that Blocker Quade and Nape Cod entered their small eatery. The men were Sheriff Martell’s deputies, two bullies with badges. Neither had ever taken a meal there before. Even as they sat down at one of the three tables, Rachel experienced a dark foreboding.

  Hiding the dread, she took a deep breath and walked over to take their order. At her approach, she suspected they had not come for the daily special. In fact, the two appeared outwardly belligerent and primed for trouble.

  ‘Hi!’ she offered, flashing a professional smile. ‘Would you two like something to eat?’

  Blocker Quade regarded her with a disgusting leer. ‘I see something I’d like to taste. How about some tulips.’

  Rachel frowned, perplexed, while Nape guffawed loudly and said, ‘Would that be flowers you’re talking about, Blocker? Or are you wondering how this lady’s two-lips would taste?’

  ‘I’m not on the menu,’ Rachel said timidly, trying to make a jest of their crude behavior. ‘We have chuck wagon stew, or we can cook up something for you.’

  Without warning, Blocker’s hand shot out and he grabbed a handful of her skirt. With a hard yank, he pulled Rachel down on to his lap. She cried out in surprise and immediately swung at his face with a tightly balled fist.

  The man was the size of a two-year-old bull and about as strong. Her one blow bounced off of his forehead like she had hit a block of granite. Then he quickly caught up both of her wrists and held them in one meaty paw. Using his free hand, he caught hold of her hair and forced her around, attempting to kiss her.

  ‘Save some for me!’ Nape shouted gleefully.

  Rachel was completely overpowered, but turned her head away to avoid Blocker’s puckered up puss. She tried to kick, but could do little damage when trapped crosswise on his lap.

  ‘Hold still, you little vixen!’ Blocker growled. ‘This is something I bet you’re gonna like.’

  ‘Hey!’ Grant bellowed, racing into the room. ‘Get your filthy hands off of my wife!’

  Grant’s reaction to the attack on his wife had been the plan
from the start. Blocker rose up to his feet quickly, dumping Rachel right on the floor. As Grant slid to a stop, the big bruiser lifted his massive fists and sneered.

  ‘She’s the one who came sashaying over and asked to be manhandled, Pomeroy. If you can’t keep your woman happy, don’t be yelling at a man who can.’

  ‘Grant!’ Rachel cried out. ‘Don’t! This is what they want!’

  But the disgusting insinuation inflamed Grant’s rage and removed caution from his senses. He was only two inches shorter than Blocker, but it was the weight difference and fighting experience that gave the bully a major advantage. At a meager hundred and twenty pounds, Grant was completely overmatched by a man twice his size.

  Grant got in one good punch to Blocker’s jaw, then the offensive part of the fight was over for him. The big brute hammered away with fists of iron. He knocked Grant back against the nearest wall and pummeled him to a semi-conscious heap. When he slumped to the floor, Blocker hit him several more times. He would have continued the beating, except Rachel grabbed up a chair and broke it over his head and shoulders.

  Blocker grunted from surprise and spun about on Rachel. ‘Damn, woman!’ he snapped, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘You could hurt somebody hitting them thataway.’

  ‘Get out!’ she screamed. ‘Get out of here and leave us alone!’

  Nape took Blocker by the arm. ‘Let’s go, buddy,’ he said, flicking a smug glance at Grant broken body, ‘I don’t think the cook is going to be serving any more meals today.’

  Laughing together, they headed for the exit. Rachel dropped down on her knees at her husband’s side. He lay in a twisted heap, eyes glassy and unseeing. His every breath was labored, exiting his mouth in a raspy wheeze. She placed her hands to either side of his face and realized his jaw was crooked, as if it had become unhinged from one side. Fear and regret tore at her insides. Grant was badly hurt.

  Don Baylor, the mayor of Silver Springs, suddenly burst into the room. He grimaced, displaying an immediate agony at seeing Grant on the floor.

  ‘I was afraid.. . . .’ He swore softly under his breath. ‘I saw those two head this way and I knew. . . .’

  ‘Get Mr Vaughn,’ Rachel pleaded. Vaughn had been a medic during the war between the Union and the Confederacy. He wasn’t much of a physician, but he was all the town had. ‘Hurry!’

  ‘I’m durn sorry, Mrs Pomeroy. I’ll fetch him right away.’ Saying that, Baylor ran out the front door and hurried up the street.

  Rachel felt the weight of the world upon her shoulders. Grant’s color was ashen and he was bleeding from a cut above one eye and both his nose and mouth. He came half awake and awkwardly coughed up some blood. Much of it dribbled down his chin as he couldn’t close his mouth properly.

  Vaughn arrived with Baylor within minutes and the two men carried Grant to the bedroom. The medico worked quickly, while the mayor and Rachel watched and tried to be of some help. After Vaughn had finished cleaning up the blood and doing what he could, he escorted them out of the room. Once out of the patient’s earshot, he stopped.

  ‘How’d this happen?’ he asked Rachel.

  She explained about the two deputies coming in to start trouble. Vaughn listened and he and Baylor were both sympathetic. When Vaughn spoke, there was little hope in his voice.

  ‘It appears Blocker Quade either severely cracked or broke a couple of Grant’s ribs. Wheezing like he is, I’ve got to think one or more of his ribs is busted and the bone has punctured a lung.’ He took a deep breath, as if regretting what he had to say next. ‘As for his jaw, it’s severely broken. I can try to bind it in place, but Grant won’t be able to eat anything solid for a long time.’ He met Rachel’s worry with a grim expression. ‘I saw a similar condition once, after a cowboy was kicked in the face by a horse. He died. If you can’t eat, you can’t survive for very long. Even mashing up food and feeding him through a tube, it’s a tough road. I suspect even a surgeon would have a hard time fixing Grant’s injured jaw. When compounded by a punctured lung. . . .’

  He didn’t have to finish. Rachel knew the end result. She remained steadfast, knowing she had only herself to rely on. She would send off a wire to Nathan telling him about his son. However, Nathan’s health had gone from bad to worse since she and Grant had wed. The injuries he suffered in the war had taken most of his left leg and he suffered bouts of fever. In his last letter, he said he had a bad cough and the doctor had warned pneumonia might set it. She sincerely doubted he could make the journey from Denver, even by train. It was simply too hard on his frail and ailing body.

  Vaughn said he would run over and pick up some pain medication at the pharmacy. Making Grant comfortable was about all they could do for him. The mayor also gave his sympathies again and promised to send his oldest daughter over to help with some of the chores.

  Despondent, Rachel went in and sat at the side of Grant’s bed. He was half-conscious and each breath was haggard and forced. He kept trying to swallow, but could not close his mouth, so she continually wiped spittle and blood from his chin. It was painful to watch and caused tears to slide down Rachel’s cheeks.

  There had not been any love between her and Grant. Both had been forced into the marriage. He resented her for not being his wife of choice – he’d not really wanted a wife at all – and she had been bartered to him like a horse. But watching him lying there, struggling to hold on to his life, Rachel felt a deep remorse. Not an ambitious man, moody and angry at being tied down to a woman, Grant had mostly gone through the motions of being a husband. Still, he had come to her defense . . . and that single protective act was going to cost him his life.

  ‘Dear Lord,’ Rachel murmured a prayer. ‘I’m sorry for the bad thoughts I’ve had about my husband. Please don’t let him suffer for defending my honor.’ She sniffed, not really knowing how to pray. Ever since she was old enough to attend Sunday meetings, she had been stuck with one or more babies to tend. She believed there was a God, but she had never been taught how to speak to Him properly. ‘I’m sorry that I ain’t been a better wife,’ she concluded. ‘Amen.’

  There were Chinese work gangs all over California, up through New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado and even into Wyoming. Cantonese workers arrived on American shores, crowded on to a ship like cattle, then were bound to serve out indentures to whomever held their contract. For the immigrant laborers, it was the only way to get in to the country and start earning a living. Most of them hoped to earn more than enough for themselves, as many had families to support back in their homeland.

  When times became hard and many people were out of work, it was easy to point the finger of blame at the Chinese: they kept to themselves, lived on dried squid, rice, tea and other dried vegetables and fish. They would also do any kind of work and usually cheaper than anyone else. There were demonstrations and even riots against the Chinese. Many people were angry they couldn’t find work, yet the Chinese all seemed to have jobs. And there were also some everyday bigots who didn’t like them simply because they dressed and talked differently, had slanted eyes, and didn’t readily blend in with the rest of society.

  One of the few white men who befriended the Chinese was Phoenix Cline. He had once lived with Charlie Chong Lee and made many friends in the tight knit Chinese community. On leaving California, Phoenix had hired out his gun and earned a reputation for being quick and deadly in a fight. His last job in Surlock, Wyoming, had kindled his conscience and Phoenix returned to visit Charlie. He owed the man a great debt and had lately felt the need for the counsel and companionship of the Chinese savant.

  As for Charlie, he had come to America back during the California gold rush of ’49. For over a dozen years he had worked for the railroad and done any other jobs available. In his free time, he learned to read, write and speak excellent English. With a background in herbs and medicine from his homeland, Lee Chong eventually started his own business.

  Charlie became something of a leader in the Chinese district of San Francisco. Understan
ding that Americans had difficulty comprehending the Chinese culture, he suggested the new arrivals invert their names to remove confusion and more closely match those in America. Hence, he became Chong Lee. To assimilate more easily, he added a first name of Charlie. Charlie Chong Lee began educating and treating his countrymen and soon developed a thriving business that brought in customers of all races. His potions and gentle treatment of injuries became renown. Especially when many western doctors – most of whom had never been to medical school – knew little more than how to use leeches, do blood-letting and who would perform amputations for even minor bone breaks or infections. Men enjoyed his herbal and holistic approach to medicine; he was literate, displayed common sense and often quoted from Confucius or other literate men. Women, especially those who suffered cramps or recurrent headaches, saw him as a god-sent healer, a learned, eastern- hemisphere physician. Rather than selling them foul-smelling concoctions that tasted of alcohol or caster oil, he provided them with a ginseng potion that was pleasant tasting and relieved their pain. He was quick to recommend they use the potion sparingly, as the opium additive could cause the patient to become dependent on the drug.

  Charlie had arrived on American shores a free man, but times had changed and the restrictions on Chinese immigration had grown stricter over the years until only the practice of indentures allowed new Chinese to get passage into the country. Charlie took it on himself to try to help those who paid their debts. He found work for many of them and contacted many others who could also help the free Chinese find jobs. As such, Charlie was a popular man among those living in China Town.

  It was a calm evening at Charlie’s residence, where Phoenix Cline and he were passing the time, when trouble came calling. There had been several incidents of Chinese being attacked or beaten when they dared enter the main part of the city. There had also been an incursion or two from angry mobs, blaming the Chinese for the current level of high unemployment. This night, however, it was a local dispute which caused trouble to end up on Charlie’s doorstep.