Devil Rising: The Heart of a Gunman. R. B. Conroy

Fragments of food from his dinner dangled from the front of his grimy shirt. He smelled like the rotten buffalo meat he had poisoned earlier in the day. He was smelly, ugly, and mean. Ed stayed calm, carefully stacking his chips.

      Suddenly, the onlookers screamed and pressed back as the huge man leaped up, leaned over the table and grabbed the young hunter by the collar. He pulled the startled youngster out of his seat and punched him square in the face. Crack! Ed’s nose busted open as he flew back against the side of the tent. Broken glasses, bottles, and coins were flying everywhere as the big man kicked the table aside. Stunned and disoriented, blood spewing from his nose, Ed staggered around helplessly, groping frantically at the tent ropes to keep from falling. The powerful blow had knocked him senseless. Unable to defend himself, he was raw meat for the wicked giant.

      Jon became enraged watching the beating. He knew Ed could no longer protect himself from this charging bull. Moving quickly into the fray, Jon planted his legs firmly between his dazed friend and the wolfer. The startled crowd now saw a young man who might be a match for this monster. Jon was thick built and muscular, not nearly as big as the nasty wolfer, but an imposing figure in his own right.

      Jon’s chest heaved, his anger grew as he spoke to the wolfer, “Listen up mister, if you lay a hand on him, I’ll beat you senseless.” The crowd groaned, the air was thick with tension.

      The wolfer, alarmed by the fury in Jon’s eyes, suddenly lunged forward for an attack. Jon quickly jerked to the side letting the big man stumble and almost fall. Arms flapping backwards, the big oaf struggled to right himself.

      “Damn you!” the infuriated wolfer shouted as he spun around and once again charged full force at Jon. Jon saw his opening; he ducked left as his right arm flew forward. With one mighty blow, his fist crashed into the ogre’s forehead, right between the eyes. A loud “pop” reverberated throughout the saloon. The big man stopped dead in his tracks, he was jumping around, screaming in pain and holding his face.

      “I can’t see!” he shrieked.

      Blood squirted from between the staggering man’s dirty fingers; his forehead began to swell around his eyes. But Jon was not finished. He let loose with another mighty blow, his fist buried deep in the big man’s stomach.

      “Uggh! Oh no!” The wolfer folded over in pain. One hand grabbed his belly; the other squeezed his nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

      Whack, whack! Jon gave him two more blows to the back. The giant man grimaced; he was moaning and teetering and ready to fall, but Jon wasn’t through with him just yet.

      “Ain’t so tough now, are you?” Jon taunted the huge bully as he prepared to administer even more punishment. Jon circled his prey, like an animal preparing for the kill. He moved sideways as he stalked the nasty brute. Suddenly his leg flew forward. There was a loud cracking sound as Jon’s boot crashed into the wolfer’s knee cap, shattering it.

      “Gawd!” he screamed as his huge body crashed onto the hard dirt floor of the saloon. His eyes were bulging, just narrow slits now. Blood was gushing from his nose. His knee cap was shattered and his ribs were busted.

      But Jon was still not ready to quit; in a state of uncontrollable rage, he wanted more. In a fight with young Jon, there was no quarter asked and no quarter given. He stood over the fallen giant preparing to unleash ever more punishment. Suddenly he was shaken out of his rage by a voice from out of the crowd.

      “Stop Jon, you’re killing him!” Ed screamed as he ran over to where his good friend was standing.

      The sound of Ed’s voice was the only thing that could have stopped big Jon. He was straddling the fallen man, holding him up by his collar. Jon looked over at Ed; sweat was dripping from his forehead, his chest heaving as he stood shaking over the massive brute. He was in a fit of rage and waiting to come out of it.

      “It’s okay Jon, it’s okay!” Ed said calmly.

      Jon just stood there for a moment with his arm cocked, fist clenched. Ed and the others waited anxiously; Jon slowly let the big man’s bloody shirt slide through his fingers. He watched as the huge body fell to the floor with a thud, his arms flopped to the side.

      “He’s had enough,” Jon said quietly.

      There was a collective sigh of relief among the patrons in the bar. Jon took a couple of steps backward, bent down and picked up his hat. He looked around the room at the people. With all eyes on him, he felt he had to apologize to the folks.

      “Sorry, but this man had a whuppin’ coming and I gave it to him.” Jon was almost whispering, his breathing labored as he spoke to the shaken bystanders. “Just send me the bill bartender,” Jon said as he glanced over at the stunned barkeep. “I’ll take care of the damages.” Other than some sore knuckles, Jon had nary a scratch on him.

      Ed’s white silk shirt was stained red with blood, his nostrils stuffed full of cotton as he approached his good friend. “You okay?”

      “Yea, I’m a might better off than he is,” Jon said quietly as he glanced down at the fallen man.

      “How are you doing, Ed?” he asked, anxious to change the subject.

      “I’ll live my friend. Why don’t you and I head on back to camp?”

      Jon nodded as the two young buffalo hunters put their arms around each other and slowly walked toward the front of the saloon tent, pride and dignity intact.

      “No charge, Jon!” the bartender shouted at the departing warriors. “That damn wolfer has been causin’ trouble in here all week. He got what was comin’ to him.” The other patrons all nodded in agreement as the tough, likeable young hunters walked out of the saloon and back to camp. A couple of bargirls hovered over the battered wolfer, tending to his wounds.

      Many times over the years, Jon would think back to that hot summer evening in the buffalo camps in the Red River Valley, Dakota Territory. Each time he was tried and each time he won, he would remember that day, when he came to the defense of his good friend Ed Morgan. It was the first time he had become that angry or violent; it was the first time he had seen the devil that was buried so deep inside of him. That explosive event, coupled with so many others during his adult life, would continue to haunt Jon Stoudenmire as he made his way through the towns and outposts of the early West.

      The powerful youngster grew into a tough, seasoned gunman and made quite a name for himself in the rough and rowdy early frontier. After twenty years of hard living and violence, he decided to escape to his vineyard in central California. During his long journey through the hot Sonoran Desert, he stopped at Logan’s Crossing, a small mining town to stock up. To his surprise, he met up with his old friend Ed Morgan for the first time since their buffalo hunting days. The bond was still strong between Ed, a popular local miner, and the weathered gunman.

      After dinner one evening, Ed made Jon an offer. With the support of the County Commission, he asked Jon to stay on as County Sheriff. The town felt Jon’s reputation as a gunman would come in handy when facing down the many unsavory characters in the desert town. Jon, short of ready cash, agreed to take the job on a short term basis. He asked Ed to be his deputy; Ed gladly accepted. Jon’s dream of going to his beautiful vineyard nestled in a lush valley near the Sierra Madre Mountains was put on hold.

      Chapter 1

      The cool winter breeze sent a chill down Pecos Street. Local residents scurried to get inside on this unusually cold day in Logan’s Crossing. Quiet conversation and laughter could be heard coming from inside the Barbee Saloon, a safe haven from the unexpectedly cool weather. Inside, Sheriff Jon Stoudenmire and a few of his closest friends enjoyed a game of five card stud.

      “Are you going to make a play or just sit there and look at your cards all day?” big Jon needled his good friend, Ed Morgan. The aging gunman, now lawman, was on a roll and didn’t like being held up. His eyes squinted through the curling smoke from his Havana.

      “Alright, alright, I call,” Ed replied. Three shiny silver dollars