Bullets for a Ballot
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE: Wouldn't You Like to Know
CHAPTER ONE: Desecration
CHAPTER TWO: Gamble with Lives
CHAPTER THREE: Making an Impression
CHAPTER FOUR: Finger Trouble
CHAPTER FIVE: A Date with the Undertaker
CHAPTER SIX: A Lawyer's Word
CHAPTER SEVEN: Bullets for a Ballot
CHAPTER EIGHT: Stewed Vegetables
CHAPTER NINE: Bad Penny
CHAPTER TEN: Different Kind of Lawman
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Cold Heart
CHAPTER TWELVE: A Strange One
EPILOGUE: Defaced
Author Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other BTAP Titles
Connect with BEAT to a PULP
Bullets for a Ballot
Morton, Nik
BEAT to a PULP (2012)
* * *
Tags: General
Cash Laramie Returns! Gun Smoke Rises And Blood Spills.
In the town of Bear Pines, Mrs. Tolliver has announced she is running for the mayoral office. She's the first woman to run
as a candidate which divides the residents and sets the town into a tailspin. U.S. Marshal Cash Laramie is sent in to
maintain peace and order and to protect Tolliver and her family from powerful allies of the incumbent, Mayor Nolan.
In a bid to force her to quit the race, things turn ugly ... and deadly. Surrounded by killers who will stop at nothing
to make sure Mrs. Tolliver is not elected, Cash wires Cheyenne for assistance, but will help arrive in time?
Edward A. Grainger's
Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles Series
BULLETS FOR A BALLOT
as written by
Nik Morton
Copyright © 2012 by BEAT to a PULP
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
The story herein is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places, and events portrayed in this collection are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover images from iStock (www.istockphoto.com); Design by dMix.
PO Box 173
Freeville, New York 13068
Praise for Amazon's Top Rated and Best Sellers Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles series:
"I confess, until I read Grainger's Cash and Miles stories, I always thought of Westerns as dusty, dated affairs. But Grainger proved me wrong. His blend of Westerns and crime fiction is pitch-perfect, bringing out the best in both genres."
-- Chris F. Holm
*
"Edward Grainger gives us some great characters—including memorable supporting ones—in his collection of stories about two 1880s Federal marshals. You also get plenty of old-fashioned pulp action. Highly recommended."
-- Troy D. Smith
*
"Plain and simple, Edward A. Grainger's, ADVENTURES OF CASH LARAMIE AND GIDEON MILES, proves that there's not only life in the western genre, but it's kicking butt and taking names. This is one of the most entertaining Westerns of the year."
-- Larry D. Sweazy
*
"... [W]hat really should be said is that Edward A. Grainger (aka David Cranmer) is one of the most important writers of the new pulp movement, and these stories are very much worth your time."
-- Matthew P. Mayo
*
"I think in the back of my mind I always hoped someone would come along and inject some vigor into the genre. Some creativity. Something above and beyond what's already been done. And then I read Mr. Edward Grainger. My wildest wishes were answered. And then some. Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles are unique to the Western ouevre."
-- Dani Amore
*
"ADVENTURES OF CASH LARAMIE AND GIDEON MILES is a new e-book collecting seven of the stories about these characters, five of them reprints from various venues and two appearing here for the first time. They're all tightly-plotted, well-written yarns, traditional Westerns for the most part but with some extra grit and edgy plots."
-- James Reasoner
*
"These aren't just great Westerns; they're great stories."
-- Steve Weddle
*
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE: Wouldn't You Like to Know
CHAPTER ONE: Desecration
CHAPTER TWO: Gamble with Lives
CHAPTER THREE: Making an Impression
CHAPTER FOUR: Finger Trouble
CHAPTER FIVE: A Date with the Undertaker
CHAPTER SIX: A Lawyer's Word
CHAPTER SEVEN: Bullets for a Ballot
CHAPTER EIGHT: Stewed Vegetables
CHAPTER NINE: Bad Penny
CHAPTER TEN: Different Kind of Lawman
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Cold Heart
CHAPTER TWELVE: A Strange One
EPILOGUE: Defaced
Author Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other BTAP Titles
Connect with BEAT to a PULP
-PROLOGUE-
Wouldn't You Like to Know
Wyoming, September, 1869
"The bitch is dead!" snarled Craig Bond as he wrestled with his saddle in Gillicuddy's Livery. He swore long and loud. "Women should know their place, Felix—and that's between the sheets and at the stove!"
Cash backed away into the shadows. Neither Craig Bond nor Felix Penny had noticed him yet. Judging by their ungainly walk as they'd entered, they'd been hitting the bottle mighty hard. He'd seen the pair in action before—bullies. Big men who misused their superior weight and strength out of devil-driven anger.
"If Widow Traynor's dead, why're we saddling up to go to her place?" Felix asked, struggling with his own saddle as well as his dubious thought processes.
Craig let out a harsh laugh. "That's a manner of speaking, you idiot! I mean, she's as good as dead, when we get there!"
The young widow Traynor! Cash heaved in a gulp of air but didn't make a sound. His Arapaho upbringing long since taught him when to remain silent and undetected. He glanced at the rear of the livery. The back door was open. Not ten minutes ago, he'd been out in the corral, putting Paint, his pinto, through his paces before bringing him in for the night. He hunkered down and listened.
"Oh, I see," mumbled Felix, fiddling with his purple bandana. "You're too all-fired clever for me, Craig!"
"Yeah, that's why I do all the planning, right?"
"You have a plan?"
"Yeah."
"What's the plan, Craig?"
Yes, thought Cash, I'm eager to know as well. He absently fingered the arrowhead that hung from his neck.
"Dan and Hugo are waiting in the sheepherder's draw. Then us four are going to go calling on Widow Traynor. We'll burn her out. She's just too damned uppity, wanting women to vote! Next thing you know, women'll want to be mayor—even the President!"
"That's right," Felix agreed. "Too uppity!"
"Yeah, well, I reckon all four of us'll give her a poke before we silence her for good!"
Cash swallowed hard and soundlessly backed away to the rear door. He'd heard enough. His first instinct was to rush round to Judge Hickey's place and report what he'd learned. But those other two, Dan and Hugo, whoever they were, they were already on the trail. It would take time to tell the judge, and then they'd have to rouse Sheriff Adams and it would all take a lot of jawing. Talk was cheap. Time could cost Widow Traynor her life. Sure, he knew even in his almost-fourteen years, life was cheap too. But Widow Traynor was a nice lady, too young to be a widow, folk said. Attractive to boot—for an older woman of some twenty-one years, he reckoned.
Sad and attractive, he thought, as he slid out the door and hurried over to the pinto.
* * *
The summer night-sky was clear, without blemish, pinpricked with stars. A glow approached from the east, but it wasn't the sunrise; paradoxically, it was something akin to darkness, the darkness of evil. Riding slightly ahead, Craig Bond led the other three men on toward Rancho Traynor, and he felt real good, their flaming torches glinting, throwing shadows over their faces.
"Hey, Widow!" he yelled, "You've got five minutes to get the hell out, or we burn you out!"
Beside him, Dan Fleming whooped.
Abruptly, a gun-flash briefly lit up the left-hand window of the ranch house and a shot barked.
Craig's horse reared in fright and he dropped the torch.
Behind him, Hugo Letch laughed. "Widow's got you spooked, Craig!"
Swirling round on his mount and putting the reins in his mouth, Craig pulled out his six-gun and fanned the weapon, firing blindly at the building. He grunted in satisfaction as he heard the glass of windows shattering.
"Felix, Hugo, torch the barn!" Craig snarled, and quickly dismounted, leaving the horse ground-hitched.
He rushed to his left and ducked behind the water trough just in time. Bullets spat into the water, soaking his face and shoulders. "Damned bitch is gonna pay for this!"
Dan landed alongside him, breathless.
Hugo and Felix rode toward the barn when, suddenly, a shotgun blasted at them from the loft. The buckshot spattered on the dirt in front of them.
"She's got help, damn her eyes!" shouted Hugo.
Hurriedly dismounting, the pair rushed to the barn, brandishing their torches.
A shot rang out from the house. Felix let out a high-pitched shriek and buckled to the ground, a dark patch discoloring his pants leg. "I've been shot!" he yelled, leaning on an elbow. "Help me, Hugo!"
Hesitating, halfway to the barn door, Hugo said, "I'll come back when I've got that bastard." He gestured at the barn with his gun and fired two rapid shots at the loft when, alarmingly, another shot from the house sounded and his arm jerked. Blood spouted from his wrist and he dropped the weapon. "Shit, the widow, she got me!"
"With me, Dan!" called Craig, ducking and running in a crouch as he moved to the rear of the barn.
* * *
His mouth dry and his heart pounding, Cash used his left hand to wipe blood from the scratch on his cheek, caused by splinters from a post gouged by Hugo's bullet.
He watched from the loft. The two called Hugo and Felix shouldn't trouble Mrs. Traynor any more, he reckoned. They were out of it. He felt a tremor in his right hand. Sure, he'd shot at men before; it wasn't so long back when he'd shot dead those two owlhoots who terrorized Mrs. Hickey. That wasn't the same as now; that was a spur of the moment thing. From this vantage point, it was different, more cold-blooded, a bit like hunting antelope, he reckoned. He touched his bloody cheek. Only the antelope didn't shoot back. The two quite recent wounds in his thigh and shoulder tingled, as if reminding him of that sober fact.
Boots scuffed on the ground by the barn's back door.
Cash hefted the Greener he'd brought from the livery and soundlessly moved into the shadows of the loft, behind large bales of hay. The widow must be using that new hay baling machine that new farmer's group called the Grange had bought. Hanging on a hook nearby was an old discarded workhorse harness.
"I don't know who the hell you are, but you're about to end up dead meat—roast meat!" Cash recognized the voice: Craig Bond.
A man's laughter erupted from the front entrance. "I like it, roast meat!" This must be Dan Fleming, Cash guessed. "Felix was right, you have a way with words!"
"Yeah, well, let's torch this place and cook the trigger-happy son of a bitch!"
"Okay, keep your shirt on," barked Dan. Cash heard him move close to the loft ladder, just underneath him.
At that moment, there was a rapid exchange of gunfire outside and Dan's attention was drawn to the entrance.
With an almighty heave, Cash shouldered the bale of hay over the edge. In the dim light, he glimpsed Dan jerk his head round and stare up at the sound of the toppling bale. Too late, he raised a protective arm and fell beneath the hay.
In almost the same instant, Cash grabbed the heavy workhorse harness and jumped.
Taken completely unawares, Craig fired up into the loft by the ladder, but Cash was already in mid-air, his arms extended.
By luck or uncanny judgment, Cash dropped the harness over Craig's head and pinned the drunken man's arms to his side.
Cash's feet hit the hard-packed earth and he let go and rolled away.
Craig staggered, his gun still in his hand but pointed harmlessly at the ground. He swore and shook himself left and right in frustration, but he couldn't break free of the harness.
Cash snatched a pitchfork and jabbed the tines at Craig's feet, impaling them.
With a deafening scream, Craig tumbled over onto his back and let out another bellow as the harness pressed into his spine. "You bastard," he wheezed, "I'll get you for this!"
"Maybe you will, Mr. Bond," Cash said, "but it ain't gonna be today."
"Seems to me, I needn't have hurried," Esther Traynor said at the doorway. "You've got everything in hand, young man." She lowered her Yellow Boy rifle, removed a slim cigar from her mouth, and lit a lantern hanging on a stall post.
"I was lucky, I guess," Cash said and shrugged as the light increased.
"What the hell," Craig growled, "he's only a boy!"
Mrs. Traynor walked past Craig, gave him a hefty kick with her boot and held out a cigar for Cash. "More of a man than you'll ever be," she told Craig.
She lit Cash's cigar.
He inhaled and started coughing.
"You don't smoke them like cigarettes," she said and chuckled.
Tears filled his eyes and he heard Craig laughing.
Cash walked over to Craig and hunkered down beside him. He blew on the tip of the cigar and held the red end about an inch from Craig's dark brown eyes. "You were planning on burning out Widow Traynor, right?"
Blinking furiously, sweat beading his brow, Craig croaked, "Yeah, but it was only for fun. We don't hold with women getting' the vote, that's all. You're a man, you 'preciate that, don't you?"
The smell of singed hair and flesh flushed Cash's nostrils as he burned part of Craig's left eyebrow and the skin above it. "No, I don't appreciate it at all." He squashed the uncommon pleasurable feeling that threatened to swamp him and removed the cigar. He stood up and looked down at a surprisingly sober Craig Bond.
Tears trailed from the corners of Craig's eyes. "If I wasn't in this goddamned harness, you bastard, I'd whup you good!"
"Wouldn't you like to think so?" Esther said and laughed. She turned on her heel. "Come on, young man, let's get this sorry lot back to Cheyenne. Mind you, jail's too good for at least one of them."
As he emerged from the barn, Cash understood what she meant. "That one's Hugo Letch," she said, pointing her rifle at the man sprawled on the ground, bloody and dead.
"He didn't want to put down his weapon," she added, "so I had no choice, I put him down."
The smell of death wasn't unusual. Cash had grown up with it. But somehow this was different. This death seemed right, appropriate.
It took them the better part of half an hour to get ready. Cash hitched the buckboard team and helped Widow Traynor heave the corpse of Hugo onto the man's horse. Still secured by the harness, Craig was shoved onto the flatbed, alongside the unconscious Dan Fleming and the wounded Felix Penny.
* * *
"This is a sorry mess," said Judge Evan J. Hickey as Sheriff Adams locked the jailhouse. He'd put the three captives in separate cells. He shook his head, his slicked back thinning brown hair sprinkled with gray. "Tempers are a mite flared up, I warrant, over this women's vote business."
"It will happen," Widow Traynor said. "Sooner or later. It's about time people accept it." She laughed. "I shouldn'
t wonder if many a wife might withhold her tenderness unless her spouse lets the bill pass."
"That may be the case, Mrs. Traynor." His brown eyes sparkled. "I suspect Mrs. Julia Bright has a hand in it."
"Probably. Anyway, Mr. Bright's bill is clear enough. Every woman twenty-one years or older, residing in this Territory, may at every election to be held under the law thereof, cast her vote."
"I know the arguments, Ma'am, and I tend to agree with them," the judge stated. "Suffrage should be a basic right of American citizenship."
"Amen to that," said Mrs. Traynor.
The judge fingered his strong squared chin and turned to Cash. "I reckon you've proved yourself yet again, son." He put a hand on Cash's shoulder. "I want you to stay out at Mrs. Traynor's place until the votes are cast. Will you do that for me?"
Cash glanced at Mrs. Traynor.
She nodded and smiled at him. "If you hadn't rode in and warned me," she said, "well, things might have turned out real different."
* * *
Cash woke when the night's blanket still covered the land. Through the bare window, stars that had witnessed the attack and a bloody death shone just as before, as if nothing of great import had happened. The moon was full and tinted everywhere inside with a blue shade.
He sat up on the bearskin bed he'd made across the doorway.
Mrs. Traynor paced the other end of the room, sometimes gazing out the window. Moonglow revealed her limbs under the white cotton nightdress. Cash looked down—his long johns had been white, once, he reckoned, but a long time ago, before he acquired them. There was a vaguely familiar stirring in his loins and he self-consciously pressed it away. He peered up but she hadn't noticed.
Then she turned to face him, running her hands over her upper arms.
"Are you cold, Mrs. Traynor?" He was warm, surprisingly flushed.