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    Fury of the Night
    Fury of the Night
    Fury of the Night
    Ebook215 pages3 hours

    Fury of the Night

    By Dallas Releford

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    About this ebook

    Can Cole McClain, a Texas Ranger, find the answer to why the townspeople of an entire town suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth and find his sweetheart, Julie Bryant, who disappeared along with them? Will he finally find the peace, happiness, and love he is searching for?
    Deciding to resign from the Texas Rangers and marry his sweetheart, Julie Bryant, Cole McClain reluctantly accepts one last assignment; arrest Ben Slade, a notorious outlaw, bandit and killer who is terrorizing West Texas. While on his way to arrest the scoundrel, he stops in South Fork where Julie lives. Puzzled when he finds that the town has been abandoned, he searches for a clue to the mystery. Encountering a strange young woman who seems to have succumbed to shock, he tries to communicate with her, but is unable to do so. Escaping with the girl during a severe storm, running from the Ben Slade gang, who has come to the town to seek revenge against the townspeople because they hung one of his men, they head out of the town and into trouble that never seems to elude them.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDallas Releford
    Release dateFeb 9, 2012
    ISBN9781465960832
    Fury of the Night

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      Book preview

      Fury of the Night - Dallas Releford

      Fury of the Night

      A western romance novel

      By:

      DALLAS RELEFORD

      Published by

      Dallas Releford at Smashwords.com

      Fury of the Night

      Copyright (C) 2011 Dallas Releford

      * * * * *

      This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, places, events, organizations, areas, or locations are intended to provide a feeling of authenticity and are used in a fictitious manner. All other characters, dialogue and incidents are drawn from the author’s imagination and shouldn’t be accepted as real.

      No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without explicit permission from the author or publisher except in brief quotations used in an article or in a similar way.

      Smashwords Edition, License notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook may not be re-sold or given to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or 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 this author.

      * * * *

      Dedication

      I would like to thank my wife Sharon for her understanding while I was writing this book. She passed away on August 18, 2010. She is dearly missed. Her suffering is over. Mine continues.

      I would also like to thank my agent and typist, Harriet Smith and Martin Smith, my advisor and typist. Their hard work and dedication has made this book much better than it would have been without them.

      * * * * * *

      FURY OF THE NIGHT

      Dallas Releford

      Cole McClain, a Texas Ranger searches for the inhabitants of a small Texas town. They’ve mysteriously disappeared and so has his sweetheart.

      * * * *

      FURY OF THE NIGHT

      Chapter 1

      Silhouetted against a clear blue night sky with patches of fluffy clouds floating endlessly over a full golden moon, four shadowy figures rode slowly toward the town of Lawson on the West Texas Plains. As they made their way through boulders and sparse bushes, the leader pulled back on his reins and sat casually on his sweating horse at the top of a hill looking down on a small town. Pulling his leg up over his saddle, he let it rest there as he rolled a cigarette. Striking a match on his boot, he lit the cigarette and continued to wat-ch. Below them, they saw a few lights from isolated houses where people obviously were still awake. Several lanterns hung from porches and posts illuminating the main street. Activity in the town seemed to be limited to a lone figure walking from the stables toward the sheriff’s office.

      Scowling as he swung his right leg down from its resting place on his saddle, Ben Slade dropped his foot into the stirrup feeling the pain of six hours in the saddle. Aching muscles, soreness in his lower back and a headache from spending too much time in the heat, humidity and sun all day made him uneasy. Now, the coolness of the early morning brought him some welcome relief. The cool, refreshing night air didn’t make him feel any better about the task before him. Something deep inside of him, a sort of intuition, a sixth-sense he’d developed over the years, told him that something was awry, that something could go wrong.

      Ever since they’d left camp early that morning, they’d been aware that Comanche raiding parties, marauders out to prey on the settlers on the plains, had been in the area. With caution in mind, Slade had split up the band of thirty riders into four groups. One of the groups was responsible for keeping an eye on the Indians. That was the most difficult task of all because the Indians roamed in small bands seeking farms, ranches and weary travelers to raid. They could be taken by surprise at any time and that was the last thing he wanted to happen. The scouts had saved them twice today. Once, the Indians were not more than a couple of miles from his party when the scouts sighted them, and the next time, the Indians had actually fired at them. That raiding party had only consisted of seven warriors and they were easily driven off.

      Presently, Indians were the last worry on his mind. He’d given strict orders that they all were to meet on the west side of town at twelve-thirty in the morning. His group had been delayed because the horses were nearly exhausted. He’d hoped the others would be waiting for him when he arrived. That was not the case and he was worried that the others had run into the Indians or that something else had happened. Now, it was nearly one-thirty and they were the only ones at the rendezvous point.

      As the clouds grew darker, more ominous, threatening, Slade turned to Joe Barker and said, Joe, we’ll rest the horses here until two-thirty. If they haven’t arrived by then, we’ll just have to go and look for them.

      I thought that, at least, the scouts would be here, Joe remarked with worried wrinkles forming on his forehead. The others looked around them into the darkness listening for the faintest sound of approaching riders. Nothing was heard except the normal sounds of the night.

      Maybe they all had tired horses, Slade replied nervously knowing that they only had a few more hours left to carry out their plan. We push-ed them unmercifully today. Several times we had to ride hard to evade those blasted Injuns.

      You don’t suppose the others had trouble with those red-skinned devils; do you, Ben?

      Naw, we’d heard something or one of the scouts would have made it to us.

      Listen, Ben Slade cautioned. Do you hear something?

      In the distance, they could hear the faint, muffled sound of hoof beats. Riders were approaching and Slade thought they were coming in his direction. The sounds grew louder as the night grew colder. A shiver, fear or just anticipation, roamed down Slade’s spine. Almost fearless, he’d been involved in many gunfights, had fought Indians countless times and had never even flinched in the face of death. The fear of impending doom had been prevalent in his mind ever since they’d planned the raid on Lawson. Too many things had already gone wrong. To Ben Slade, gunfighter, outlaw and cold-blooded killer, that was a bad sign.

      Jake, ride over that hill yonder and find out who it is. If it’s our boys, then bring them here.

      Sure, Ben, Jake Long replied kicking his horse in its sides urging it into the darkness. As his hoof beats faded away, Ben Slade sat uneasily in his saddle staring down at the sleeping town of Lawson. Few lights illuminated the town now. Just about everyone was in bed, sleeping.

      Jake Long returned ten minutes later with several men on exhausted horses following him. Slade could hear the labored breathing of the horses before they’d gotten within sixty feet of him.

      What happened? Slade asked recognizing Jason Pearl King. They called him Pearl because of the two ivory handled Colts he wore stuck in his belt. Pearl was the appointed leader of the other groups and the best man Slade had ever ridden with. Quick witted, fast on the draw and accurate with his weapons, Pearl was handy to have around.

      Horses are worn to a frazzle and we ran into those redskins back there. Lost two men and a couple others are shot up pretty bad. Luckily, the other boys were close by and came to our aid. I brought them all with me. You know, I’m beginning to hate Indians.

      Join the crowd, Slade replied, surveying the party of men as best as he could in the dark. Well, we’ll rest the horses until four. Better get those men taken care of. The ones that can’t ride will be left here. We’ll pick them up on the way out of town.

      Right, Pearl said, quickly. Two of them have arrows in them. We couldn’t get the damn things out. They need a doctor.

      Where’d they get shot at? Shoulder?

      Pat got one in the arm, just above his armpit. Lonnie got one in his … well … in his hip.

      His ass, you mean? Slade knew there was nothing funny about it. Avoiding any facial expressions that might signal that he wasn’t serious, he strode over to a man thrown across his saddle. An enormous, long arrow protruded from his left hip. Slade could clearly see that it’d gone into his left hip and that the arrowhead was buried in his right cheek making it difficult to remove. Standing with his hands resting on his two six-guns, he studied the problem with dubious intent. Always serious, he was known for taking care of those who trusted him enough to ride with him. He never knew when his life might depend on one of those men. Get him off that horse. Make him as comfortable as you can. We’ll try to find a doctor down there. We’ll bring him back here.

      Sure, we can do that, Pearl said, shuffling his feet. Ben, we’re five men short. Do you think we should call off the raid?

      Lighting another cigarette, Slade said, dourly, No, King. I think we have plenty of men. With a little luck, all those folks will be sleeping when we ride in. I’ll take half of the men and ride in from the west. You take the others and approach from the other direction. Remember, our objective is that bank. Do you still have that dynamite?

      In my saddlebags. The man who handled it was killed in the Indian raid. What do we do now? I know nothing about dynamite.

      I know something about it. My father used to blast stumps out of the ground back in Kentucky when I was a kid.

      We’ll need that know how to get that safe open.

      We’ll get the job done. Just you let me worry about the bank.

      King looked at him sourly, wondering if he really knew how to set the charge. His many dealings with Ben Slade had taught him that Ben Slade always told the truth, even if he was a dangerous man. Guess we better get some rest then. Four o’clock will be here before we know it.

      They’d tethered the horses on long ropes near a small stream in the valley in back of them where they could reach water and tall grass that was all around them. Slade checked the wounded men and bandaged their wounds as best as he could. Finally checking on Lonnie again, he saw that he could do little for him, not even pray since he wasn’t exactly one of the Lord’s favorite followers. Whispering quietly to Lonnie, he told him to hang on and that they’d get help for him. Lonnie was bleeding badly and Slade shook his head in despair. The young man was already in great pain and just cutting his pants off so they could remove the arrow would cause him more pain than he could stand, perhaps as much as removing the deadly arrow. Cutting his pants off would be something that a doctor was experienced in doing. Wondering if he could really find a doctor and find him in time to save the boy, he walked back to where the others had bedded down and laid down on his blanket. Overhead, dark clouds increasingly obliterated the faint, dim stars.

      About three-thirty, they saddled their horses and rode off toward Lawson. One group halted about a mile out of Lawson while the other group circled around the town. Waiting for ten minutes to give his men time to get into place on the other end of town, Slade gave the signal. Drawing their weapons, they rode their horses slowly down Main Street.

      Nearing the bank, four men dismounted in front of the building, tied their horses to a hitching rail and strode casually toward the front door. As the other riders rode on, they stood by the door leaning against the wall, waiting.

      We kill the sheriff and his deputies, now, Slade yelled. Let them have it. While you’re creating chaos, I’ll get the bank. The rest of the men that you can spare can clean out the stores, shops and anything else that’s worth robbing.

      Right, Pearl replied loudly. Mounted, King and several others rode closer to the jail. Aiming both guns at the two glass panels in the front door of the jail, he fired continuously. Others joined him as glass shattered and bullets could be heard ricocheting from the walls inside the sheriff’s office. When they’d emptied their weapons, the front doors burst open and an old man stumbled out onto the plank sidewalk. His blood-covered white shirt, blood-splattered face and bloody hands indicated that he’d been hit several times. Barely living long enough to see who’d shot him, he crumpled to the sidewalk, dead.

      Laughing, prodding their horses forward, they shot out most of the windows in the town, killed helpless victims who dared to venture from their homes to see what was happening, and set several buildings on fire. The group of outlaws who’d come in from the opposite direction had joined the others and while the combined force of outlaws created a path of destruction through the helpless town, Slade and four outlaws tackled the bank.

      Forcing their way through the front doors was easier than blowing up the safe. The safe had been special made by a company in St. Louis. Unaware of the complexity of the safe, Slade placed four sticks of dynamite in front of the safe and four sticks were tied to the handle next to the tumbler.

      When they lit the fuse, Slade and the others took shelter across the street in an alley. Behind old wooden barrels, they waited for the fuse to ignite the dynamite. The devastating explosion knocked horses to the ground, broke the few windows that the outlaws hadn’t found and dropped men onto the street like they were ants. The earth shook like an earthquake had rumbled through the town. The entire front wall of the bank was blown out into the street. Several large chunks of debris actually fell near Slade and the other outlaws in the alley.

      Unscathed, the outlaws gathered in front of the bank surveying their handiwork. As the smoke cleared, the dust settled, and the outlaws became more confident they’d been successful at blowing up the safe, Ben Slade stepped forward and walked into what had been the bank.

      Tall, wide-shouldered, long dark hair, gray penetrating eyes and a full beard and moustache, Ben Slade looked more like a peace officer than he did an outlaw. Pushing aside several boards, he walked into the room where the safe was located expecting the safe door to be wide-open. Growling, cursing and despondent, he stood looking at the safe that was just as secure as it ever had been. Several of the other outlaws joined him.

      What do we do now?

      Slade turned around to see King standing near him. I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to blow it up some more. It’s too heavy to move.

      King shook his head earnestly, doubtful if they could do either.

      While the outlaws pondered their dilemma, many of the townspeople had come to life. Several business owners, citizens and a town deputy named George Crook had gathered at the other end of town and were discussing what to do. As they surveyed the situation, argued and tried ineffectively to control their anger, Wiley Thompson, the owner of a large spread to the west of town rode in with thirty armed cowboys. Someone had managed to ride out to his ranch and told him that the town was under attack.

      While some of the outlaws argued that they should again attempt to blow the door off the safe, others simply wanted to take what loot they had and get out of town. The argument ensued until Ben Slade stepped in and told them that blowing the safe up with the few sticks of dynamite they had was impossible. Moving it wasn’t an option either because it was too heavy. Disgusted, they turned and walked back out into the street and into the hands of death.

      As Slade stood in the middle of the street, in the coolness of the early morning, urging his men to mount and ride out of town, he heard the sound of horses coming down the street. Pushing his way through the throng of outlaws that had surrounded him, his face turned pallid, his heart raced and he felt as if his world was about to end. Riding up the street were more than fifty mounted, armed men and they looked like they were serious.

      Some of the outlaws were shot down where they stood. The townspeople and the ranchers were in a nasty, hanging mood. Nobody rode into their town, slaughtered people, blew up the bank, and rode out. As Slade and twelve of the other outlaws ran toward their horses, dozens of bullets zinged past them. Reaching their horses, they mounted and rode out of town as Pearl and most of the other outlaws were either killed or taken captive.

      Within an hour, seven outlaws were swinging from an old tree in the center of town that had many rope burn marks around its limbs. Several others were still lying in the street where they had been shot down. Next day while following the outlaw’s trail, they’d find the wounded outlaws high on a nearby hill. They’d hang too, wounded or not. The only doctor they’d see would be the one that pronounced them dead.

      As they rode hastily through the forest, up valleys and across gullies, Slade vowed that he’d return to his hideout and get the rest of his men. When he returned, he’d make that town pay for what they’d done to him. Remembering his earlier feelings, his warning intuitions, his feeling of impending doom, he wished

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