Wolf Creek: The Taylor County War

By Ford Fargo

Welcome to Wolf Creek. Here you will find many of your favorite authors, working together as Ford Fargo to weave a complex and textured series of Old West adventures like no one has ever seen. Each author writes from the perspective of his or her own unique character, blended together into a single novel. An innocent field trip goes horribly awry when Wolf Creek’s headmaster, Marcus Sublette, and his pupils find themselves in the crossfire of a range war. Ambitious rancher Andrew Rogers will stop at nothing to eliminate his rivals and initiate his broader, nefarious plans –and he has a small army of hired guns to prove it. Can the cowboys of the T-Bar-B, and the lawmen of Wolf Creek, stand in his way, or will the prairie be soaked in blood?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Western Fictioneers
• Release date: Jun 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311287540

Ford Fargo

Beneath the mask, Ford Fargo is not one but a posse of America's leading western authors who have pooled their talents to create a series of rip-snortin', old fashioned sagebrush sagas. Saddle up. Read ‘em Cowboy! These are the legends of Wolf Creek.

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Western Fictioneers Presents:

WOLF CREEK: The Taylor County War

By Ford Fargo

WOLF CREEK: The Taylor County War

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Western Fictioneers

Cover design by L. J. Washburn

Cover painting: When Cowboys Get in Trouble by Charles Russell (public domain)

Western Fictioneers logo design by

Jennifer Smith-Mayo

Smashwords Licensing Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Wolf Creek: The Taylor County War is a work of fiction. Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.

Visit our website at www.westernfictioneers.com

Beneath the mask, Ford Fargo is not one but a posse of America's leading western authors who have pooled their talents to create a series of rip-snortin', old fashioned sagebrush sagas. Saddle up. Read ‘em Cowboy! These are the legends of Wolf Creek.

THE WRITERS OF WOLF CREEK, AND THEIR CHARACTERS

Bill Crider - Cora Sloane, schoolmarm

Phil Dunlap - Rattlesnake Jake, bounty hunter

Wayne Dundee – Seamus O’Connor, deputy marshal

James J. Griffin - Bill Torrance, owner of the livery stable

Jerry Guin - Deputy Marshal Quint Croy

Douglas Hirt - Marcus Sublette, schoolteacher and headmaster

L. J. Martin - Angus Spike Sweeney, blacksmith

Matthew P. Mayo - Rupert Rupe Tingley, town drunk

Kerry Newcomb - James Reginald de Courcey, artist with a secret

Cheryl Pierson - Derrick McCain, farmer

Robert J. Randisi - Dave Benteen, gunsmith

James Reasoner - G.W. Satterlee, county sheriff

Frank Roderus - John Hix, barber

Troy D. Smith - Charley Blackfeather, scout; Sam Gardner, town marshal

Clay More - Logan Munro, town doctor

Chuck Tyrell - Billy Below, young cowboy; Sam Jones, gambler

Jackson Lowry - Wilson Wil Marsh, photographer

L. J. Washburn - Ira Breedlove, owner of the Wolf’s Den Saloon

Matthew Pizzolato - Wesley Quaid, drifter

THE WOLF CREEK SERIES:

Book 1Bloody Trail

Book 2Kiowa Vengeance

Book 3Murder in Dogleg City

Book 4The Taylor County War

Book 5Showdown at Demon’s Drop

Book 6Hell on the Prairie

Appearing as Ford Fargo in this episode:

Douglas Hirt (Marcus Sublette)- Chapter 1

Chuck Tyrell (Billy Below)- Chapter 2

Clay More (Dr. Logan Munro)- Chapter 3

Troy D. Smith (Sam Gardner) - Chapter 4

Matthew Pizzolato (Wes Quaid) – Chapter 5

James Reasoner (G.W. Satterlee)- Chapter 6

Troy D. Smith - epilogue

INTRODUCTION

In Wolf Creek, everyone has a secret.

That includes our author, Ford Fargo—but we have decided to make his identity an open secret. Ford Fargo is the house name of Western Fictioneers—the only professional writers’ organization devoted exclusively to the traditional western, and which includes many of the top names working in the genre today.

Wolf Creek is our playground.

It is a fictional town in 1871 Kansas. Each WF member participating in our project has created his or her own main character, and each chapter in every volume of our series will be primarily written by a different writer, with their own townsperson serving as the principal point-of-view character for that chapter (or two, sometimes.) It will be sort of like a television series with a large ensemble cast; it will be like one of those Massive Multi-player Role-playing Games you can immerse yourself in online. And it is like nothing that has ever been done in the western genre before.

You can explore our town and its citizens at our website if you wish:

http://wolfcreekkansas.yolasite.com/

Or you can simply turn this page, and step into the dusty streets of Wolf Creek.

Just be careful. It’s a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to die there.

Troy D. Smith

President, Western Fictioneers

Wolf Creek series editor

CHAPTER ONE

Marcus Sublette glanced up at the schoolhouse clock, startled to discover it was almost time for class to begin. He’d let time get away from him again. Usually Miss Sloane was here to help with the classroom chores, but this morning she was attending a committee meeting for the new Haselton Memorial Library.

The voices of children playing in the school yard spurred him on to quickly finish cleaning the last lamp chimney and then fill the bowl with oil, setting it back in place in the wall stanchion.

He snatched the bell off his desk, gripping the clapper, opened the door to the warm, early fall morning, and rang assembly.

The children stopped their play and scampered over, forming a line at the doorstep to make their manners.

One after the other the children made their manners and went to their seats. Marcus nodded his acceptance of the polite bows made by the Li boys: Li Xiao, Li Lin, and Li—Marcus glanced about. They were one Li short. Where’s Li Wei?

Li Xiao held out a piece of paper. Marcus unfolded it, glanced at the words written in a simple script, and looked back at Li Xiao. I understand that, with Li Wei being the eldest son, his help is important at the laundry works, but his education is important also. Please advise your mother that I expect to see Li Wei in class tomorrow.

The Li boys hurried to their seats, leaving only the three older boys, who were always the last to enter. It was plain they were growing bored with their lessons, anxious to be out in the world of adults. Of the three, Frank Miller, the widowed seamstress’s son, showed the least concern about his lessons. How did one stimulate their interest in learning?

Twelve-year-old Ethan Hartman, son of rancher John Hartman, who owned the Lazy H, made a theatrical bow and grinned. Howdy, prefessor.

That’s professor, and howdy to you, Mr. Hartman. He put up with Ethan’s brashness, so long as it didn’t get out of hand. Discipline taken to extremes sparked rebellion.

Obie Wilkins gave a quick, short bow; proper and respectful. Wonderful day, Mr. Sublette, ain’t it? He struggled to hide a grin.

Obie was pushing for a reaction. Marcus didn’t intend to play the lad’s game. Yes, Mr. Wilkins, a splendid day indeed it is.

Obie was a quiet, polite boy whose home life left much to be desired. His father drank too much and his mother mothered him too much. Obie took the desk next Ethan in the back row.

Bringing up the end of the line, his head bent toward the ground, Frank Miller gave a quick bow and mumbled. Morning, Mr. Sublette.

And to you, Mr. Miller.

The boy scooted past, but Marcus caught his shirt sleeve and lifted his chin. My, my. I must say, that is a most impressive shiner, Mr. Miller. Likely the finest black eye I’ve seen in quite a number of years.

Frank half grinned. Yes, sir. You’re probably right.

Hurt?

No.

Hum. What does the Bible says about lying?

Frank winced. Well, maybe a little.

I suspect so. You see, I used to get those all the time. Only, mine were always upon the right eye.

Frank gave him a skeptical look. How’d’ya manage that?

Marcus smiled. You might say it was job related.

Frank didn’t know what to think, and that was just as well. Keeping students a little off balance gave the teacher an advantage. And to whom do you owe it?

He looked away. Nate Huffington.

Marcus recalled Mr. Huffington; a promising student until he turned fourteen last year and dropped out of school to apprentice with Joseph Nash, the carpenter. How did Mr. Huffington fare?

A sparkle brightened Frank’s gray eyes. Busted his nose and knocked him into the trough out front of the livery. He grinned. Last I saw, he was sputtering for breath while Mr. Torr — err, I mean Mr. Tolliver fished him out.

Marcus tried not to smile, which would only encourage the youth. He said sternly. Fighting is not the way to settle a difference, Mr. Miller. Especially with someone older and bigger than yourself.

Only by a year. And he’s not either bigger’n me.

Regardless, there are other ways.

Grandpa says I’m the man of the house now, and I gotta protect my ma.

Oh? Did Mr. Huffington threaten your mother?

He –he called her a name.

That did put a different light on the matter. I see. I won’t ask . . .

Said only a dry sow would marry a stink’n Johnny Reb razorback. Frank’s mouth screwed tight and his face reddened.

A stink’n Johnny Reb razorback! Marcus’s spine stiffened. In that case, I hope you gave Mr. Huffington two black eyes.

Frank looked for a moment as if he was going to burst into tears. Instead, he burst into laughter and the two of them went into the schoolhouse.

***

Oral hygiene, Dr. Cantrell growled, has become the bane of my existence. It will ruin me, I tell you, John. The very devastation of my livelihood! I haven’t had but three customers all week. It’s enough to drive a man to drink.

That’s a short ride for you, Doc. John Hix jockeyed the glistening razor around Dr. Cantrell’s sharp chin. By your breath, I say you’ve already begun the trip.

Jefferson Cantrell laughed. Never touch the stuff until the sun’s over the yardarm.

Which is about seven of the clock in these parts. Now, stop wiggling.

Hix scraped the cold blade over the dentist’s throat. Been meanin’ to ask, the barber said. Cantrell sounds a lot like Quantrill –no offense intended –you ever notice that?

A very unfortunate coincidence, I assure you, Cantrell said. The man was a menace and a disgrace.

The blade pressed more sharply against his throat, and Hix leaned closer. The dentist seemed not to notice.

Cantrell huffed. In the old days I’d have performed eight extractions by Wednesday, and grounded at least that many cavities clean — ouch! He put a finger to his cheek and looked at a smear of blood mixed with shaving soap.

Warned you. Next time it’s liable to be an ear lobe. Or a slice of cheek.

You did that on purpose. He waited for Hix to deny it, but the barber had gone strangely silent, the blade in his hand motionless. Cantrell looked up. Hix’s eyes were cold and empty ... staring. Cantrell slanted his view at the gleaming razor poised near his throat. Err, careful with that thing, John. John?

Hum? Hix sounded distracted. Those disturbing eyes were focused someplace else, as if mesmerized by something.

Although he’d known John Hix for almost a year, Cantrell could honestly say he didn’t really know the man. What’s wrong, John? Cantrell turned to see what had caught John’s attention in the window. A freight wagon had come to a stop and two men were climbing down off the high seat. Their boots thumped the boardwalk and the bell above the barber shop door jangled.

They were dressed casually: bowler hats, sack coats and woolen trousers. Neither man looked like they needed their hair cut or their faces shaved.

Hix’s haunting eyes followed them in and stopped them in their tracks like a bumper post at the end of a line.

Good morning, one of the men said.

The spell broke.