Gunslinger Justice

Book VI of the

Jake Silver Adventure Series

Jere D. James

GUNSLINGER JUSTICE

By Jere D. James

Copyright 2014 JERE D. JAMES

All rights reserved by Moonlight Mesa Associates, Inc. Moonlight Mesa Associates, Inc. owns the sole rights to publish and distribute this work.

Published by Moonlight Mesa Associates, Inc.

Western Book Publisher for Smashwords

www.moonlightmesaassociates.com

orders@moonlightmesaassociates.com

ISBN: 978-1-938628-19-1

LCCN: 2014914405

Any references to real people, living or dead; and real events, businesses, organizations and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

ALIVE

After two weeks Diego Fuentes’ bullet-riddled captive had not died, so the outlaw paid the man a visit.

I see you have not had the good grace to die, Fuentes said, smiling. I am impressed, gringo.

Jake Silver sat propped up, the morning sun streaming into his room, the sound of waves crashing onto the nearby beach. Though pale as death and weak as an infant, an almost imperceptible smile visited his mouth, and he managed to nod a greeting.

I will hand it to you, gringo, I am surprised that you live, but now I have the problem of what to do with you, Fuentes said in a conversational tone. It would grieve me to have to kill you for your misdeeds when so much time has been spent reviving you.

I see your point, Jake replied in almost perfect Spanish.

Ah! You speak my tongue well. You are a man of many talents.

A puzzled look crossed Jake’s face and Fuentes explained, Yes, talent with the rifle, stealing horses, and with words. I’m sure you have other talents besides. Perhaps I will let you live awhile so I can find out what they are.

With that, Fuentes left the room, issuing a threatening command to Maria Rodriguez to keep the gringo alive.

So, that’s the enemy, Jake thought as he closed his eyes. Doesn’t seem like such a bad guy – but apparently he is.

Jake had never seen the ocean until he sailed from San Diego down the coast of Baja on the Sea Goddess with Richard Moody, Vincent Cooper, and Thomas Jefferson. The men had been on the hunt for two young women abducted by Jeremiah Atkinson, a crazed man Jake had first met several years earlier in a Mormon settlement in one of the northern canyons in Arizona. It seemed long ago that he’d encountered the fanatical Atkinson, yet it was only a few years.

Curious to the point of distraction, Jake wondered if Richard Moody had managed to escape with Margaret, one of the captives, and return to Arizona. It had been quite an adventure he and Moody had undertaken – quite an adventure. He didn’t think it wise to ask Diego Fuentes of Moody’s fate, considering Fuentes had claimed Margaret as his concubine and begotten her with child. Even more than knowing the fate of Richard and Margaret, however, Jake desperately wanted to know if Betsy, his sweetheart for the past several years who’d been abducted along with her sister Margaret, had made it safely back to Prescott. Not knowing gnawed at him something awful.

The men had rescued Betsy after the rickety vessel carrying her and Margaret sank in a violent storm. Miraculously, they’d pulled Betsy from the water unconscious, just moments after she’d slipped from the wooden mast she’d been clinging to. They didn’t find Margaret, however. Instead, a Mexican fisherman found the young woman and, owing Diego Fuentes a great deal of money, had given her to Diego in payment of the debt.

Much later, after a series of grueling setbacks, Jake and Richard found Margaret as she was attempting to escape Diego’s confinement. Unfortunately, their getaway was detected when the two rescuers stole a couple of Diego’s horses. Jake, seriously wounded in the escape attempt, chose to remain behind to hold the Mexicans off while Margaret and Richard fled. By then, Jake had recognized he was suffering from lead poisoning, always fatal. He’d been forewarned by the doctor in Prescott. Better to die instantly riddled with bullets than to linger, he’d figured.

Jake looked out the window at the sun sparkling gloriously on the water. He breathed in as deeply as he dared without setting off a round of pain. He liked the view and the salt-laden air, so different than Arizona’s. At that moment he truly appreciated being alive, but it was all a cruel joke – he was dying of lead poisoning, so the laugh was on Fuentes for wasting his time.

Jake watched as his caretaker, an older woman who never spoke, entered the room. She wouldn’t even tell him her name. The other woman, Rosalia, chattered endlessly. Rosalia brought him his broth. At first she’d come only twice a day, but as he improved she came much more frequently. Of all things, she talked endlessly about Margaret.

Such a beautiful girl, she repeated almost daily. Lovely white skin, silky brown hair. Too thin, though. A man wants a woman with meat on her bones. A little cushion to rest himself on. Then she’d smile and wink at Jake. Margaret had little flesh, but Diego took her to be his anyway.

It didn’t matter if Jake commented or remained silent, Rosalia would prattle on and on, even when he pretended to be asleep. She was, it seemed, the town gossip, so Jake inadvertently learned a great deal about Fuentes’ household and the small settlement of Guerrero Negro. He learned Fuentes kept a dozen armed guards around the premises at all times. He has an army of perhaps fifty men, maybe one hundred, she bragged to Jake. The citizens of Guerrero Negro also serve as his army. They report anything they see or hear to Senor Ruiz, Diego’s top soldier. That’s why Diego knew you and the other man were coming this way.

Sometimes Jake would ask Rosalia questions, but he tried to be circumspect less she become suspicious and report to Diego. From what he gathered over the weeks, he learned he’d have virtually no good opportunity to escape. He remembered clearly the hell he and Richard Moody had gone through to get to Guerrero Negro, a settlement about the half way point in Baja. Jake felt fairly certain that the route from Guerrero Negro north would be no better than the nightmarish southern route that he and Moody had traveled to get there. So be it. It appeared he was, in every respect, Diego’s prisoner. For now.

Jake wondered why Diego had gone to such lengths to keep him alive. Was it for the pleasure of torture and revenge at a future time for rescuing Margaret? Possibly. Might Diego also be thinking of demanding ransom for him, a Deputy U.S. Marshal? Jake doubted it, and if that were the case, Diego had wasted his time. Perhaps Diego would trade him for a fellow Mexican being held by the American authorities. Or Diego could sell him…damaged goods.

All manner of possible scenarios scuttled through Jake’s head. He eliminated most of them, except the torture possibility. He didn’t like that scenario, but according to Rosalia, Diego had a vicious streak and a violent temper.

Senior Diego, she whispered when she got on the topic of Diego’s bad disposition, once beheaded four men – men from northern Baja – who came into his territory. He cut the tongue from one of his own men who lied to him, and he cut the hands off another for raping a young girl Diego had chosen for himself.

What does he have planned for me? Jake ventured to ask the talkative woman.

She shrugged. I think he keep you as a, how you say – ?

"A trofeo?" Jake suggested.

"Si. Trofeo."

So, I’m a trophy. He cringed at the thought.

Several weeks into his recovery, Jake realized that he hadn’t experienced the nausea, joint aches, and other symptoms of lead poisoning that he’d been having prior to being shot to hell by Diego’s men. Mystified, he mentioned it to Rosalia, who offered the suggestion that perhaps Maria Rodriguez, whom she believed to secretly be a witch, had cured him with one of her potions. It’s a wonder Maria has not killed you, Rosalia commented. You killed Julio, her only son. Now she has no one to take care of her in her old age.

Jake remembered killing a young Mexican named Julio Rodriguez who’d offered to guide him and Moody to Guerrero Negro, but who ultimately intended on turning them over to Diego. No wonder she never speaks to me, Jake commented.

Maria no speak to anyone. She is a witch, and powerful. She can cure any disease – even the most terrible. I once saw her cure a man with the skin eating disease.

Leprosy?

Maybe so. And another time she cure a child bitten by a mad dog.

Humph, Jake responded, not really believing Rosalia, a kindly but peculiar old biddy.

It was impossible for Jake to notice any improvement in his condition from day to day, but from week to week his recovery became obvious.

A week after Diego Fuentes first called on him, Jake stood with assistance and walked shakily across the room. I’d like to sit here by the window, he said when Maria started to assist him back to his bed. May I?

She left him leaning against the window opening while she plumped pillows in the chair and brought a lap blanket. "Gracias. Thank you," he said.

"De nada. Think nothing of it." Maria mumbled.

Jake left his bed several times a day during the following days when Maria and Rosalia were not in the room. Each time he moved about he felt better, and stronger, but he knew it might be months, if ever, before he could escape and walk over the mountains to Arizona.

As Jake expected, Diego Fuentes paid him a visit several days after his first sojourn out of bed. I hear you are now walking about, Fuentes said, nodding in approval.

I guess you could call that walking. It left me plumb feeble, but you’re right – I walked. Felt good, too. Can’t wait to get up and move around. Maybe go swimming, he said, wondering what kind of response Diego would make.

Diego roared with laughter and started to leave the room. We will talk…later. He stopped at the door and turned to Jake and said, Swimming? You make me laugh, gringo. You may have many talents, but you cannot swim to California.

Guilt

Richard Moody picked up his horse’s hoof and cursed. Damn you! You’ve lost another shoe! He’d have to call on the blacksmith this time. He carried only two spare shoes in his saddlebag, and both had been used.

Frustrated as he slowly traveled down the dusty road, he wondered where in the hell Cooper had disappeared to. Moody had caught wind that the scoundrel had been staying at the Empress Hotel in San Diego, but by the time he’d arrived, of course Cooper had departed.

Moody couldn’t explain why, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the hunt for Vincent Cooper. Somehow the incessant searching was all mixed up with Jake, but instead of alleviating his sense of culpability, it swamped him with guilt for abandoning his only friend to be slaughtered by Diego Fuentes’ small army. Sometimes, in the quiet of night, Moody even admitted to himself that he was really running from shame – not running after Cooper. I should have stayed, he repeated every time the all too frequent vision of Jake, with rifle in hand critically wounded and hobbling to the adobe structure, came to mind. He knew that when the hunt for Cooper ended, he’d head back to Mexico and kill Diego Fuentes.

Richard argued with himself endlessly about his decision to flee and leave Jake behind. Even though Jake was suffering from lead poisoning and probably wasn’t going to live long, it didn’t change the fact that he’d left his best friend to die, to be shot to death, so he could escape with Margaret. And now, ironically, Margaret lay dead, possibly at the hands of Cooper.

When he thought about things rationally, he knew Cooper was probably not at fault for his lover’s death. Even when Richard had found her with a neck broken, lying at the foot of the porch, he’d glanced at that top step and seen a piece of her skirt caught in the loose board. If Cooper were innocent of causing her death, why was he so intent on killing the man?

Someone had to die to make up for Jake’s death. Cooper deserved it more than anyone else. Cooper and his double-dealing.

Moody stood, anger burning his stomach. Cooper needed to die. That’s why I’m coming after you, you son of a bitch. You killed Jake just as much as those Mexicans. You and Atkinson are responsible for his death. Moody took comfort in the knowledge that he’d shoved Atkinson overboard on the steamer that he, Margaret, Cooper, and Atkinson had coincidentally all been aboard returning to San Diego. The memory of the despicable man disappearing beneath the vessel’s wake never failed to bring him immense pleasure.

His head began to ache. It always ached when he thought of the ordeal he and Jake had gone through to rescue Margaret. And it had all been for nothing. All the key players were now dead, save Cooper and himself. Moody figured he’d probably be killed when he returned to Mexico to kill Fuentes, but he didn’t care. It might be a relief and the only escape from his guilty conscience.

***

I’m a bit behind today, Mr. Moody. It’s gonna be a while. You got any business in town to attend to? the blacksmith asked.

No hurry. I’ll come back later this afternoon. He’ll be shod by then?

Yes, sir. 3:00 guaranteed. I’ll have this guy re-shod by 3:00. Might as well do all four feet while I’m at it. Them other two shoes are looking a mite worn, too.

Moody nodded his approval and unsaddled the horse. 3:00 then. Okay if I leave this gear here?

Yes, sir. I’ll keep an eye on it myself.

Moody headed to the Empress to have a drink. Hell, he’d have time for a bath and shave, too. Maybe he’d stay the night. He hated sleeping out. Jake used to rib him about that. I like my comforts, he’d tell Jake. Whiskey, women, and soft beds. Besides, he had money. He’d received two wires for $100 each for a job well done in Yuma. He’d not lost his touch on the trigger, at least.

Killing men was Moody’s business. He wasn’t cheap to hire, either. In fact, he’d been paid to kill Jake Silver, the Deputy U.S. Marshal. Lucky for Silver that Moody disliked the employer and had found Jake to be a likeable, brave, and brazenly impulsive man. He hadn’t realized the extent of his friendship for Jake – until it was too late. Certainly the man had been one of a kind.

Whiskey. The good stuff, Moody said to the barkeep, slapping a silver coin on the counter.

Yes, sir, the man replied, pouring Moody a shot. Say, might be none of my business, but wasn’t you looking for a man named Cooper a couple days back?

Moody bolted the whisky and slammed the shot glass on the counter, catching his breath as the liquid burned all the way down. And? If I was?

Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but that Cooper fellow took off with some woman. Sounded like they were headin’ to Arizona to find a mine.

Why are you telling me this? Moody asked.

The scoundrel took me for a lot of money. Ran up a big bar bill and then high-tailed it out of here.

I’ll have another, and not that rot gut you just served me, Moody said, pushing his shot glass forward. So, when did this happen?

Well, just the day before yesterday I believe it was, the bartender said, taking a different bottle from behind the bar and refilling Moody’s glass. You was in here two, maybe three days ago, right?

Probably. That sounds about right.

Well, it was right after that. The very next night, I think it was. He stiffed the hotel, too. Manager ain’t any too happy about that. I’m plumb madder than a hornet. I gotta settle the bar bill outta my pay.

Moody tossed down another shot. You know the woman he left with?

Can’t say as I do, although I’ve seen her in here from time to time. Mighty good-looking gal.

She a whore? Moody asked.

No, I take it she’s got money. I see her with a man on occasion. Different one each time, though. But I get the feeling she’s a woman of some means.

You seem to notice a lot about this woman.

She’s a swell-looking, buxom brunette. Hard not to notice her.

I believe I’ll take one more shot there, Moody said, feeling the warming glow of the whiskey in his throat and stomach. He watched the bartender fill another shot glass. You don’t by chance know her name, do you?

No, sir. Can’t help you there.

You say they’re heading to Arizona to a gold mine?

"Yes, sir. That’s what the waiter said who served the lady. He overheard the two of them. He paid particular attention to their table once he caught the words ‘gold mine,’ ’cause he came to California looking for gold and lost his britches. That’s why he’s working here as a waiter. Lucky to get