Hard men to kill, p.1
Hard Men to Kill, page 1
LOOK FOR THESE EXCITING WESTERN SERIES
FROM BESTSELLING AUTHORS
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE AND J.A. JOHNSTONE
The Mountain Man
Luke Jensen: Bounty Hunter
Brannigan’s Land
The Jensen Brand
Smoke Jensen: The Early Years
Preacher and MacCallister
Fort Misery
The Fighting O’Neils
Perley Gates
MacCoole and Boone
Guns of the Vigilantes
Shotgun Johnny
The Chuckwagon Trail
The Jackals
The Slash and Pecos Westerns
The Texas Moonshiners
Stoneface Finnegan Westerns
Ben Savage: Saloon Ranger
The Buck Trammel Westerns
The Death and Texas Westerns
The Hunter Buchanon Westerns
Will Tanner, U.S. Deputy Marshal
Old Cowboys Never Die
Go West, Young Man
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Hard Men to Kill
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE AND J.A. JOHNSTONE
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
kensingtonbooks.com
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
Teaser chapter
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
900 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2025 by J.A. Johnstone
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher, and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
PINNACLE BOOKS, the Pinnacle logo, and the WWJ steer head logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7860-5161-8
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-5161-8
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-5162-5 (eBook)
CHAPTER 1
“Give us the money.” Clement leaned forward, square jaw jutting out belligerently. His gnarled hands curled into fists the size of ham hocks. The muscles in his forearms tensed, threatening to rip his soiled denim shirt. He gritted his teeth and then tossed his head like a fiery stallion getting ready to buck. Long blond hair flew back.
His hard gray eyes bored into the banker’s rheumy blue ones, but the portly man refused to flinch. He leaned forward and braced himself on his desk.
“You do not deserve a dime, Mister Clement. Not a single, solitary penny. As long as I am president, you shall not get it from this bank.”
“I can take it.” Clem’s voice rasped with menace.
“We have guards. In the lobby. They are watching you right now. Make a move to harm me and, I swear, they will fill you so full of holes there won’t be five pounds of your bellicose manner left to bury.” He cleared his throat. “I might add that your grave will be in the potter’s field since you can’t afford even a simple burial.”
“He’s an Elk,” Charlie Dawson said uneasily. He had listened to the men insult each other and now they moved on to outright threats of bodily harm. “The order will see that he gets a decent burial.”
“You, too, Mister Dawson? Will they bury you, as well?” The banker settled back and tented his fingers atop his bulging belly. “Leave. Both of you. My patience has worn out.”
“You can’t take what my partner says too seriously, Mister Norton. It’s just that Clem here’s all excited. We found the biggest, best vein of gold in the whole of California, and it’s just waiting to be dug out. We need supplies so we can get it pulled out of the Betty Sue. There’s enough blasting powder, but we can use supplies. To eat.”
“Food,” growled Clem, not budging an inch from his crouch of looming halfway across the banker’s desk.
“You should have left him buried in the mine,” Norton said. “You’re reasonable. Him,” he said, sniffing pompously as he looked down his bulbous nose at the two miners, “he needs to be taught manners.”
“Clem, go on and wait outside. I can handle this,” Charlie said. He felt a tad uneasy now. The banker had pushed too hard. Clem neared the end of his fuse and was about ready to explode like a keg of Giant Powder.
Clem reared up to his almost six-foot height and glared. He spun about, growled like an angry wolf, and stalked out. The two guards in the lobby watched him with some trepidation, hands resting on their holstered six-shooters. They breathed a sigh of relief when the trouble Clem promised left, slamming the door behind him.
“Now, Mister Norton, how about—?”
“You owe money all over town. The general store. Jones won’t give you another loan. Sam, over at the Blue Spruce Saloon, won’t even stand you a round of drinks. Not a drop of that panther piss he calls beer. No, Mister Dawson, you have drained this entire lake we so fondly call Potluck of money. There is not a drop to be had. None.” Norton pointed a stubby finger at the door. “Get out. Now.”
Charlie Dawson reared back and looked over his shoulder. Both guards looked more comfortable throwing him out than they had his partner. He was solid enough and his hands were powerful from swinging a pick all day. He was four inches shorter than Clem, but his shoulders were broader and his chest thicker. And they had no idea how fast he was with the Walker Colt tucked into his waistband.
He pushed his flat-brimmed hat back on his forehead enough to let a lock of brown hair pop out. If ever a man looked ready for a fight, it was him.
Charlie stood and glared at the banker.
“You’re making a big mistake. The Betty Sue Mine is going to produce the most gold California’s seen since the Rush of ’49. That’s twenty years, Mister Norton, twenty years. It’s time for the next big strike, and we’re it. The Betty Sue’s going to produce more gold than you will ever be able to lift with those fancy manicured hands of yours. This bank could have been part of it. Your stockholders will look back on this day and wonder what kind of banker you were to pass up this golden opportunity. I’ll say it again. Golden!”
“Leave. Now.” Norton jabbed his finger several times in the direction of the door.
Charlie left, giving the two guards a baleful look. He stepped out into the Northern California sun. His partner leaned against the brick building, smoking a cheroot. The puffs of smoke rose and disappeared in the gentle breeze blowing off the mountains where their mine stood waiting silently for them to become millionaires.
“No luck?”
“You know he turned us down,” Charlie said glumly. “We’re going to need a new pick. I broke our old one. And some food . . .”
“I can hunt. I’m a better shot ’n you.”
“We’ll need ammunition. All I’ve got is in the cylinder.” He touched the Colt in his waistband.
“Not much better,” Clem said. He drew the Army Colt he carried at his right hip. “Maybe two more cylinders. No more.”
“Twenty rounds or so between us. You’ll have to make every shot count, and there won’t be any chance of bringing down a deer for some venison stew, not with a pistol shot. The Winchester’s out of ammo.”
Charlie hitched up his britches.
“All this means is that we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, and our bellies are going to rumble a mite.” Charlie wanted to say more but had nothi
“Mine already thinks my throat’s been slit.” Clem finished his smoke and went to his swayback nag. He stepped up and waited silently for his partner.
“We’ll show everyone in Potluck. We’ll show Norton and Jonesy and Sam and every last one of them when we strike it big. We’ll buy the saloon and the general store and . . . and . . . the bank!”
Clem shrugged and turned his horse’s face toward the road leading from town. Charlie dug his heels into his scrawny horse’s flanks, wondering how horse stew tasted.
“Ready to blast,” Clem bellowed.
“Go on, then. I’m already halfway out of the mine.” Charlie Dawson stopped and waited. There was something Clem was holding back. “You need a lucifer? Use the flame on the candle.”
“Ran out of matches a couple days back.”
“So what is it? Spit it out.”
“This is the last of our blasting powder. We might try blasting somewhere else. This don’t look like we’re blasting into the mother lode. Looks like quartz but I’m not even seeing fool’s gold.”
“The rock’s fine,” Charlie protested. “All we need to do is clear it out to get to the mother lode.” He fell silent for a moment. “You’re saying there isn’t any gold?”
“Ain’t seen a single flake. This isn’t blue dirt. We’re wasting our powder.” He looked around. “Betty Sue’s sucking the life from us.”
“The mine’s got plenty of gold. I feel it.”
“The assay doesn’t say it.”
“You know the assayer wouldn’t give us the report. I feel it in my bones that the report was a good one.”
“He wouldn’t give us the report because we couldn’t pay for it.”
“Then you don’t know what it said. I’m beginning to think you’re turning into a chicken, Clem. We’ve been together going on two years, and this is the first time I’ve seen you so negative.”
Clem ran his callused finger around in the borehole tamped with blasting powder. He pulled it out and looked at the black grains clinging to his skin.
“It’ll be a waste. There’s no gold here.”
“Betty Sue’d never lie to us. You said so yourself!”
“That was six months ago.”
“Look. Look at this spot! It’s gleaming with quartz. There’s gold behind this patch and—”
The clatter of horses’ hooves caused Charlie to fall silent. Clem moved beside him and whispered, “You got your gun?”
“It’s in the cabin.”
“Mine, too.” Clem picked up a pry bar and started for the mouth of the mine. Charlie followed close behind carrying their single good pickax.
The day’s fading sunlight blinded him. Charlie squinted as he made out four riders. Three remained mounted. Their leader strutted over and stopped a few paces away, his hand resting on his holstered six-gun.
“Good,” he said. “You gents are already leaving.”
“What do you want, Jimmy Norton? Did your pa get tired of you stinking up the bank so he sent you into the countryside to air out?”
“You talk big, Dawson. Do your jawing somewhere else. I got papers.” He held his coat open. A sheaf of folded documents caused an inner pocket to bulge.
“What are they?” Clem tapped the pry bar against his left palm. Every time he dropped it caused a sound like a gunshot. Two of the mounted men flinched at the noise. The third went for his six-shooter.
“Whoa there, Fredricks,” Norton said, holding up his hand. “There’s no call to cut down these two. They’re just leaving. And shooting them’d be a waste of lead.”
“Get your mangy carcass off our land,” Charlie said. He stepped closer, readying the pick.
“You stay where you are. I got papers. This here mine’s changed hands. You got foreclosed on for not paying taxes. When I heard that, I put up the money outta my own pocket to buy the Betty Sue.” Norton spat. “That’s a lousy name. I’m calling this here claim the Gold King Mine.”
“Taxes?” Clem pushed past his partner. “We don’t have to pay taxes for another eight months.”
“It was an early assessment, and you missed the deadline. Not that you deadbeats coulda paid, even in a thousand years.” Norton drew his six-shooter when Clem took another menacing step forward. “You back off or I swear, I’ll gun you down.”
“You have to give us a notice,” Charlie said. “Nobody told us squat.”
“Consider yourselves served,” Norton said, yanking the sheaf of papers from his pocket. He thrust them at Charlie.
“We’ll get a lawyer to fight this,” Charlie said, glancing over the top page. A few sheets fluttered down. Clem picked them up and looked at them.
“You don’t have money to patch a leaky bucket. Get off the land right now.” He snatched the papers from Charlie. “Get off my land, you deadbeats.”
The metallic click as pistols cocked caused Charlie to reach out to restrain his partner. Clem had a way of flying off the handle. He never said much, but his fists often did. Matched against four armed and angry men was a sure way to get ventilated.
“Let us get our bedrolls from the cabin.”
“Go on,” Jimmy Norton said.
The mounted man called out a warning, but it was too late. Both Clem and Charlie used their weapons to whack at Norton and the other two. Their horses reared and fought them. The solitary mounted man tried to shoot, but his horse bucked.
The two miners raced for their cabin. Clem kicked in the door, not bothering to push it open. He dived for their pistols hanging on a peg by the door. Charlie fielded his and swung around, blazing away.
His first shot caught Jimmy Norton in the gut. The man staggered away, clutching his belly.
Huge chunks of wooden wall began filling the air. The other three fired wildly. The flying splinters made Charlie and Clem duck low. They pressed against an overturned table that gave hardly more protection than the thin cabin walls.
“We’re in a world of trouble now,” Charlie said.
Clem held up the papers Norton had dropped and started to pass them to his partner. A new fusillade tore through, causing him to stuff the papers into his waistband. He spun and fired through the door. His lead caused some consternation. Another of their attackers yelped in pain.
“We don’t have much ammunition. I’m about out. What about you?”
Clem shook his head.
Then their troubles multiplied. A piece of roof fell in. Charlie looked up and saw flames spreading around the hole.
“They’re burning us out!”
The entire cabin exploded in a fireball.
CHAPTER 2
“This way!” Clem rolled away from the table and kicked like a mule. A section of the back wall blasted outward, already on fire.
Charlie wasn’t going to argue. The roof was collapsing overhead, showering burning fragments all around. He rolled and rolled again, colliding with his partner. For a moment they lay in a pile, gasping. Smoke billowed out, filling their lungs. Both coughed. Eyes watering, they made their way from the cabin.
Charlie began swatting out embers that threatened to set fire to his clothes. Beside him, Clem rolled over and over in the dirt to accomplish the same end. They sat upright when bullets began kicking up tiny dust devils around them. The fire hadn’t ended the assault. Norton and his cronies had come around the cabin and spotted them.
Clem steadied his Army Colt against his upraised knee and fired.
A loud screech rewarded his marksmanship.
“He shot me!” Jimmy Norton cried. “Help me. Help me!”
Charlie couldn’t see Norton through the smoke gusting from the cabin, but he homed in on the voice. He emptied his Colt in that direction. New cries of anguish greeted him.
“Not Norton,” Clem said.
“At least one of his henchmen. Maybe two.” Charlie clicked the trigger a couple more times. “I’m out of bullets.”
“Me, too.”
The two got to their feet and staggered as their cabin roof collapsed fully, sending out more waves of flame and heat and smoke. Using this as a cover, they got to the shed used as a stable. They saddled their horses, tucked whatever lay around into their saddlebags, and mounted.
