Man from Sweetwater (eBook)

Susan Elizabeth DeLeon, Hank Scott (Autoren)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
322 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-4412-9 (ISBN)

Infos

This is a story is about a young man, Dan Morgan, who is being accused of a crime he didn't commit. He is forced to flee from his home in Sweetwater, Texas because he is being pursued by a shady sherriff and his deputies after having engaged in an what started out as an innocent poker game, but turned deadly and resulted in the murder of the sherriff's, brother. Follow Dan as he travels through the harshest terrain of the Old West, meeting both friend and dangerous foe in an effort to clear his name.

Susan Elizabeth DeLeon, Hanks daughter assisted her dad by typing up the drafts of this book as they were handwritten by her father when she was in high school. It was much later in 1973 when Susan had the benefit of spending some special with her dad that he turned to her with a somber look, and requested that she take over the responsibility of getting The Man from Sweetwater published after he was gone. He passed away three days later. Recently, Susan created the final version of this novel by combining four similar manuscripts all originally written around 1959. Susan graduated from Fairfield University in Connecticut with a Master's of Art's Degree in Marriage and Family Therapy. She was employed as the Director of a non-profit program, where she advocated for the rights of domestic violence survivors for over twenty-five years. Susan recently moved to Tucson, Arizona where she has enjoyed reliving the adventures of Dan Morgan, the young man at the center of this entertaining story.

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Meet Dan Morgan, who lives in Sweetwater, Texas, with his father, sister, and ranch hand Clay Elkins. He is about to celebrate his twentieth birthday Texan-style with a good smoke, a round of poker, and a town dance with his sweetheart. A seemingly innocent game turns into a confrontation that changes his life forever. Follow Dan as he travels through the harshest terrain of the Old West, meeting both friend and dangerous foe, leaving behind love and family to clear his name. Hank Scott paints a beautiful and passionate portrait of traditional perilous Western landscapes as he describes the suspenseful adventures of a young man forced to grow up to stay alive.

Textauszug

Chapter 2

The Posse

Jud Crawley was sitting in his office, overcome by the heat. The sweat ran down his face as he swatted madly at a pesky fly that was making his life miserable. He scratched his chin to satisfy the itch of a two-day stubble. His sweat-soiled bandana partially balled into his shirt pocket was, even at this early hour of the day, too damp to be of much use. Grumbling about insect life and the unbearably hot weather, he swung his feet down from the scarred roll top desk, grunting as he opened the lower drawer and reached for a cigar.

Sheriff Crawley was a rough-and-tumble, barrel-chested individual who had given in to obesity. An easy life had piled the pounds on him these last few years. Not overly tall, he stood on long, spindly legs that gave a crab-like shuffle to his walk. Not graced with good looks, even in his younger days, he had fleshy jowls, a flushed complexion, and close-set eyes. A large hairy mole mushroomed alongside his bulbous nose that had been flattened from too many fights. Now pushing fifty and balding, a fringe of gray hair straggled untrimmed down over his ears.

Incongruous with his general appearance was the unusual caliber of his voice. It had a deep resonant quality—basso profundo—providing a welcome contrast to an otherwise curmudgeon personality. It was the characteristic of which he was most proud.

He had come to Abilene when the town was a mere small point on the trail west. His brother Ed had preceded him and a year later sent word for him to come join him. That same year he had been appointed the sheriff’s deputy. He had learned the ropes the hard way, and after the mysterious death of his predecessor, he had taken over the office as a matter of course.

Living in Abilene had taught him how to take care of himself. The townspeople were raw and rugged and mainly concerned with their own problems. It surprised no one that he was elected sheriff in a unanimous town vote despite some questions about his brother Ed, a known troublemaker having had a hand in his election. Since then, he had had the luxury of running the job to his own liking, bending the law whichever way necessary to satisfy himself and those who’d put him in office. If there remained any questions about Jud using his authority to keep Ed out of jail, most people had found it healthier to forget what they knew.

Lately the town had been quiet. Occasionally, a drunk got too rambunctious, but, on the whole, Jud had almost no complaints about his work, which mainly consisted of sleeping and drawing his pay. Few men could say the same. Indeed, the last five years had been very much to his liking, and he hoped it would remain so.

It was at this most pleasant point in his daydreaming that the office door burst open, and a wide-eyed youth stood before him. Agitated and disheveled, his eyes were popping with excitement. The boy shouted at the sheriff, “Yer brother’s been kilt!”

The sheriff, in the act of lighting a cigar, almost fell out of his chair. He looked up in disbelief. “What?!” he yelled at the terrified lad.

“The Silver Dollar!” The boy now ducked quickly out of the office. A second later, he reappeared in the doorway. “Jest a few minutes ago,” he added, as though anticipating the question. “Better come!”

Sheriff Jud lunged to his feet with a speed that belied his bulk and grabbing his six-gun, hurled through the doorway, nearly sending the youth sprawling into the street. He roared, “Out of my way—my God, Ed!”

He bolted to the Silver Dollar Saloon and breathing heavily from the exertion, burst through the batwing doors.

“Here’s the sheriff now!” someone yelled. “Move back an’ give him room.” Jud Crawley elbowed his way through the crowd until he got to his brother. He dropped to his knees beside his brother’s still body. His mind flashed back to their childhood spent living with an abusive father; his brother bearing the brunt of his father’s wrath. Their mother had died when they were young boys, leaving their father to run the ranch while raising two rambunctious sons. His father hadn’t handled it well. Drinking had become a daily ritual. When he was drunk, one never knew what to expect. One time, he and Ed had been playing together when his father had come home from the bar and decided to lock the two boys in the shed because they had not cleaned up the stalls to his liking. It was at that point they had decided to take an oath in a special bond of brotherhood. They would always be there for one another, no matter what. As the older sibling, Jud had always been responsible for his kid brother’s well-being. He was the one person Ed could count on.

He felt dizzy and sick, but Jud knew he had to gain control as he remembered his position in the community. Anger then took over as he bellowed, “Who done it?”

Before anyone could answer, Doc Smith came hurling through the swinging doors with his black satchel. “Here’s the doc!” the barkeeper’s voice squeaked off-key. “Let him through, gents.” The doctor lost no time in taking command of the situation. After a cursory examination of the body, he straightened up and snapped his black bag shut. “He’s dead, that’s for sure,” he announced. “Never knew what hit him. So sorry, Sheriff. Let me know if there is anything I can do for you. Will someone get his body over to my office?” With that he headed for the door, jostling a few onlookers who stood in his way.

The sheriff, still on his knees, attempted to get up but found his legs were buckling and he needed to hang on to a chair. He looked up at no one in particular; just directed his gaze around the room. As he struggled for strength, he repeated, anger rising in his voice, “Who done it?”

The barkeeper spoke: “A stranger—we dunno who—came in after that Morgan kid. Them two guys there…” The speaker pointed at two men and continued, “The kid an’ yer brother Ed was playin’ a game of poker when young Morgan accused Ed of cheating. The kid wasn’t wearin’ no gun or nothin’, so a stranger cut his self in by sidin’ the kid. Then he put a bullet through Ed when yer brother tried to stop the kid from takin’ the money. The stranger shot him cold.” There seemed to be consensus with this account among all present except for an old-timer, who retreated to the back of the crowd and said nothing.

No one mentioned the fact that Ed had reached for his gun first or that he had tried to use the lad as a shield. Slowly regaining his composure, the sheriff questioned, “Which way did they go?”

“South,” about a half-dozen witnesses said at varied intervals.

“I always knowed that spoiled Morgan kid would git into a jam sooner or later. I’m gonna ride out to his ol’ man’s ranch an’ git thet kid for murder.” The sheriff looked hard at the faces of the men about him as he spoke. “I’ll deputize anyone who’ll ride with me.”

Jud stopped at his office to pick up a rifle and throw some things into a saddlebag, then joined a posse of volunteers waiting for him in front of the saloon. Threading his way through the milling onlookers, he signaled his men about him. Less than an hour after the killing, the posse thundered out of town, heading for the valley road and the Boxed M ranch. Two of the posse who had witnessed the ordeal and had been close friends with the sheriff’s brother rode up in the lead with Jud. The remaining two respectable members of the group, who were from neighboring ranches, kept well behind. They had joined the sheriff’s posse only because they had been asked to and individually felt it their civic duty. One of the men up front spoke to the sheriff. “Yer brother Ed didn’t have no chance—that Morgan kid blocked Ed from defendin’ his self.” The other nodded in assent, then said. “Them two was in cahoots iffen yu ask me,” supporting his friend’s testimony. “What yu gonna do when we catch ’em?”

“Jest between us ’n,” Jud’s voice dropped so he would not be overheard by the others, “I’m gonna kill ’em both.” And with that remark, he lifted his animal into a gallop. When he reached the turn-off, the sheriff pulled up and waited for the rest of the posse to catch up. “Look,” he pointed to the fresh hoof prints. “They both stopped here for a spell—ground’s all torn up. That proves they was in cahoots. Trail ain’t more than half hour old.” He squinted into the sun for a second, then spurred the bay into a run. The others followed suit as they rode along the trail in single file. Coming to the juncture where the trail met the valley road, the sheriff wheeled his mount toward the Boxed M spread.

The men rode the remaining ten miles in relative silence.

Sheriff Crawley held his forward position as he eased into the rhythm of his mustang’s loping gait. His face was grim and harsh with determination. Some two hours later, they rode up to the Morgan homestead. The Sheriff stepped down and handed the reins up to one of the men. The remaining members of the posse stayed...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.1.2024
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-4412-9 / 9798350944129