The armed deputy prodded Buchanan out of the cell. “We’re taking care of scudders like you who try to buck the law. We’re putting you on trial. A judge, a jury, the whole shebang.” And the whole shebang was a frame-up. The self-appointed judge was a madman, part-time sadistic sheriff and part-time lunatic preacher. And the jury he’d appointed was made up of doddering old men either too drunk or too deaf to hear the “evidence.” “You know what the jury’s going to do to you?” the deputy sneered at Buchanan. “That jury is going to hang you. Hang you by the neck.”
He was a tall son—taller than most men by a head, with a look of wildness in his battered, tough face. He was Tom Buchanan out of West Texas, who fought with joy and loved with gusto—who many times had gone to meet death without pause and with great good nature. This time he took on the whole of Agry County and the violent bandit clan that ran it. It was no fight of his—but a girl had been violated and a family’s honor tarnished. So Buchanan settled his gunbelt and flexed his great hands and went surging into battle like a one-man troop of cavalry. And, by God, in the end there was left even to burn in Agrytown …
Malvaise narrowed his eyes. “So you think you’re the man to take on the job of getting rid of me and my boys, do you?” he said to Buchanan. “I never saw a fast gun yet that didn’t meet up with a faster one.” “Amen, brother,” Buchanan agreed. “And you know what you’re bucking here in Pasco County, don’t you?” “Me,” Buchanan said, “I ain’t bucking nobody.” “Then ride out fast,” Malvaise told him. “Ride now!” But Buchanan didn’t like being told what to do. Not in that tone of voice. Buchanan stayed. Until the last bloody patch of desert had dried.
They said in Texas that Tom Buchanan ate wildcat for breakfast and that he was slow to anger—like a rattler dozing in the desert sun. But now every saloon and dance hall had heard the news: Buchanan was cleaning his guns. The genial giant of a man had sworn to kill the outlaws who had shot his best friend in the back. Old timers shook their heads. It wasn’t going to be a fair fight, they said. The odds were only three to one.
Bella was quite a town, a free-wheeling, lusty young hell, the kind of town Tom Buchanan pleasured in. But then it turned ugly and made the mistake of angering Buchanan—and when the smoke cleared away there was nothing much left but wholesale mourning.
The National Defense Authorization Act for fiscal year 2020 directed the Secretary of Defense to report on food insecurity among members of the armed forces and their dependents. RAND researchers examined the eight elements from the directive (including an assessment of the current extent of food insecurity among service members and their dependents) and developed answers, along with listing areas requiring additional analysis.
He stepped back and gazed at the tall, smiling man with wonderment. He had just seen him lick the most deadly gunslinger in the West with his bare fists. Where'd you come from? he asked admiringly. No place in particular, Buchanan said. Is that a fact? And where you bound? Same place. Buchanan laughed. You must like it there, the little rancher said. I like it best wherever I am, Buchanan replied gently.Available only in Wheeler Western 6.
A fortune in gold bullion, silver plate, and jewels beyond price ... This was the fabled Cuesta treasure. Men had died for it a century before. Then it had disappeared--hidden somewhere near the Cuesta ranch in Texas. Now, men were beginning to hunt this treasure again. And more would die.
Thank you for visiting our website. Would you like to provide feedback on how we could improve your experience?
This site does not use any third party cookies with one exception — it uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and to analyze traffic.Learn More.