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  Issuing classic fiction from Yesterday and Today!

  Sheriff Buck Rawlins was a hero … years ago. The next-to-last-thing he needed was a man like John Stone stopping a bank robbery single-handed, reminding folks what a real hero looked like. The last thing Rawlins needed was John Stone as his deputy.

  Now Stone is on the right side of the law, but the wrong side of the sheriff—with Deke Casey’s outlaw gang gunning for him, it’s a mighty dangerous place to be …

  Once, John Stone had everything a man could ever want: wealth, position, and a woman who loved him. But that was before the Civil War. Now, he’s lost his fortune, and his fiancée has disappeared. All he has left is his Colt, a picture of Marie, and a mission—to roam the West until he finds the woman he loves!

  TIN BADGE

  THE SEARCHER 3

  By Len Levinson writing as Josh Edwards

  First published by Charter/Diamond in 1991

  Copyright © 1991, 2014 by Len Levinson

  Published by Piccadilly Publishing at Smashwords: June 2014

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  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 book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader.

  Cover image © 2013 by Tony Masero

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Mike Stotter

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  Chapter One

  The clock on the side of the bank said ten o’clock in the morning as John Stone rode past. His clothes were matted and worn; he wore a growth of beard and was covered with dust and dirt. His big black horse had a wild look in his eyes as he bucked his head up and down and plodded amid carriages and other riders on horseback, his hoofbeats pounding on the ground.

  Stone was entering Petie, a large town of freshly painted wooden buildings, many of them two and three stories high. He’d been on the trail eight days without seeing another human being and in the saddle since sunup. All he wanted to do was get off his horse and take a look at civilization again.

  He angled the horse to the curb, climbed to the dirt, and tied the bridle to the hitching rail. Loosening the cinch strap of the saddle, Stone ducked under the rail and climbed onto the planked sidewalk.

  It creaked under the weight of numerous pedestrians. Many of the men were nattily dressed in frock coats, shirts, and ties, while the ladies wore the latest fashions from the East, with bonnets on their heads and the hems of their dresses touching the boardwalk. Stone dropped onto an empty bench in front of a pawnshop, beneath the three big brass balls.

  He pushed his old Confederate cavalry officer’s hat back and reached for his bag of tobacco, his long legs sprawled in front of him. He was six feet two, and his pants were tucked into the bottoms of high-topped black boots, cavalry style. He rolled himself a cigarette with strong rough hands, and wore a black bandanna around his throat. His eyes were blue, his cheeks deeply tanned, and he had dark blond hair. He wore two Colt pistols low and tied down on crisscrossing gunbelts.

  It was a warm summer day, and the sun shone brightly in the sky. Stone put the cigarette into his mouth and lit it up. Across the street were a barbershop, hardware store, and the Paradise Saloon. Petie had the look of a prosperous town, civilized and law-abiding, unlike the rowdy little conglomerations of shacks and outhouses that Stone usually had found on the frontier.

  Somebody dropped beside him on the bench. Stone turned and saw a bony old man wearing a floppy cowboy hat and carrying a cracked guitar with one string missing. The old man smiled, revealing a toothless mouth. His nose was a mangled red lump in the middle of his lined and wrinkled face.

  “I ain’t never see’d you before,” the old man said. “You must be new around here.”

  “Just arrived.”

  “Where you from?”

  “South Carolina originally.”

  “Know somebody in town?”

  “No.”

  “You look like you need a drink.”

  “I’ll get one as soon as I take care of my horse. You been in Petie long?”

  “Before you was ever thought of.”

  Stone reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a photograph in a silver frame, covered with isinglass. “Ever see this woman?”

  The old man took the picture and squinted his rheumy eyes. The photograph showed a pretty young blonde wearing a high-necked gown. She was smiling, gazing to the side of the photographer.

  “You’re damn right I seen her,” the old man declared. “She’s Doreen Eckles.” He pointed across the street to the Paradise Saloon. “She works right over thar.”

  Stone stared at him in astonishment. He’d been looking for the woman in the picture ever since the Civil War, roaming the frontier like a vagabond, and she was suddenly across the street?

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Sure I’m sure. I seen her jest a few minutes ago. C’mon, I’ll take you to her.”

  Stone got up from the bench, towering over the old man. The woman he was looking for was named Marie Higgins, but maybe she’d changed her name.

  They crossed the street side by side, Stone walking slowly so the old man wouldn’t have to struggle to keep up. The old man was bandy-legged and smelled like tobacco, whiskey, and sweat.

  “What’s yer name?” the old man asked.

  “John Stone.”

  “I’m Toby Muldoon.”

  They shook hands. A stagecoach clattered by in front of them, pulled by a team of eight frothing horses. The guard sat on the box beside the driver, his rifle cradled in his hands, the stagecoach’s wheels churning up dust. It passed, and Stone looked ahead at the Paradise Saloon. After all these years, could it be that Marie was across the street?

  They’d been engaged to wed before the war, and then he’d gone off to fight for Bobby Lee, leaving her behind. Four years later he returned, and she’d disappeared, his parents were dead, and their plantation had been burned to the ground by Sherman’s army. Some folks said Marie had gone west with a Union officer, but Stone couldn’t believe Marie would’ve gone anywhere with a Yankee, but he’d come west looking for her anyway. He’d had nothing else to do, nothing better to hope for. Marie was the love of his life and he’d never been able to forget her.

  His heart quickened as he approached the boardwalk on the far side of the street. Muldoon pushed the doors open, and Stone followed him into a spacious drinking establishment with the bar straight ahead and round tables scattered across the floor. Although it was morning, a fair-sized crowd was gathered, guzzling whiskey, playing cards, talking loudly. Above the bar was a large painting showing naked women cavorting in a meadow.

  “Right this way,” said Muldoon, as if he owned the place.

  He headed toward the bar, and behind it a young woman with long straight black hair was working. She looked as though she might be part Indian, and was tall, wearing a low-cut blouse with a flower print on it, and a dark brown leather skirt.

  Muldoon stopped in front of the bar and grinned, showing his gums and the tip of his leathery tongue. “There she is!” he said proudly.

  “Where?”

  Muldoon pointed to the woman behind the bar. “Her.”

  “She doesn’t look anything like the woman I showed you in the picture!”

  “Shore she does.”

  The woman behind the bar was drawing a mug of beer from a brass spigot. “That old fart botherin’ you, mister? He’ll do anything for a drink.”

  Stone
looked down at Muldoon.

  Muldoon winked at him. “How’s about a drink, big feller?”

  “You lied to me, old man.”

  “Where’s my drink?”

  Stone realized Muldoon was a pathetic old drunkard who couldn’t help himself, and he didn’t have the heart to deny Muldoon what he so obviously craved. “Whiskey for my friend and me,” Stone called out to Doreen.

  “Be with you in a minute.”

  Doreen served the beer to a cowboy drinking alone at the other end of the bar. Along the far wall, a man in a striped shirt, wearing a derby hat, sat at a piano and plinked the keys. Doreen placed glasses and a bottle in front of Stone and Muldoon. She leaned over the bar, revealing the upper portion of her surging breasts, and looked Muldoon in the eye.

  “You oughtta be ashamed of yourself, Muldoon.”

  “Meet my friend, John Stone.”

  She turned to Stone and smiled. “I’m Doreen Eckles,” she said. “You new around here?”

  “Just rode in.”

  “What brings you to Petie?”

  Stone took out the picture of Marie and showed it to her. “Ever see her?”

  “Who is she?”

  “Friend of mine.”

  Doreen looked at the picture. “She don’t look like nobody I ever seen.”

  “Muldoon said you were her.”

  “I don’t look anything like her. Like I just told you, Muldoon’ll do anything for a drink.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Muldoon agreed, a broad grin on his face.

  Stone picked up the bottle and filled Muldoon’s glass, while Muldoon stared transfixed at the amber liquid. Then Stone filled his own glass.

  “To happy days,” Stone said.

  They touched glasses. Muldoon’s hand quivered as he raised his whiskey to his lips and slurped like a dog. Stone took a swallow and let the whiskey burn its way down his throat. It was fairly smooth and had a sweet smoky taste, unlike the usual rotgut found on the frontier.

  Muldoon drained his glass, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and placed his glass on the bar, looking at Stone with his puppy-dog eyes.

  Stone pushed the bottle toward him. “Help yourself.”

  Muldoon eagerly reached for the bottle. Stone looked at Doreen, pouring whiskey at the other end of the bar. He hadn’t looked at a woman for eight days, and she was a balm for his eyes. She glanced back at him and their eyes met for a few seconds. A silent communication passed between them, then she returned to her work. He turned around, leaning his back against the bar.

  The piano player continued to play. Stone was struck by the tranquility of the saloon. There were no fistfights, no shootings, no loud arguments. It was a civilized place, and he was able to relax. He thought he’d stay in Petie for a few days and clean up, then move on to the next town and find out if anybody there had seen Marie.

  He remembered Mortimer, his horse, tied to the rail across the street. The horse was thirsty and hungry, and needed to be taken care of. Stone dropped a few coins on the bar.

  “Got to leave,” he said to Muldoon.

  Stone walked erectly like a soldier toward the door, his stomach in and chest out, broad shoulders rolling slightly, spurs jangling.

  “Come back anytime,” said Doreen.

  Stone touched his finger to the brim of his hat and pushed open the doors of the saloon, stepping onto the sidewalk. He crossed the street, pausing to let a wagon stacked high with hides pass by. The hides emitted the terrible odor of rotten meat, and Stone held his breath, then dashed toward his horse. He tightened the cinch under Mortimer’s belly and climbed into the saddle.

  “Sorry I kept you waiting, but there was something I had to do.”

  Stone and Mortimer headed toward the stable. Stone feed and water the horse, rub him down, and check into the nearest hotel for a bath and a shave. Then he’d have a meal at the best restaurant in Petie.

  He rode down the center of the street, looking at the citizens of the town. Most were well dressed and well groomed, except for a few cowboys who looked like they’d been sleeping in their clothes. The ladies didn’t appear overworked and worn out like most women on the frontier.

  I think I’m going to like it here, Stone thought, feeling relaxed and content. The whiskey settled him down, and the peaceful ambiance of the town wrapped him in a warm glow. It’d be nice to take it easy for a few days in such a congenial place. He saw old men seated on benches, smoking pipes and cigarettes. Three women laughed in front of Brandon’s Fine Jewelry. A little girl in a white dress skipped past the Acme Saloon.

  Suddenly gunfire erupted in front of Stone, and Mortimer was so shocked he raised his front hooves high in the air. Stone turned in the direction of the shooting and saw men with bandannas over their faces running out of the Petie Savings Bank, firing pistols in all directions!

  Women screamed hysterically and everyone dashed for cover. The robbers, carrying heavy saddlebags filled with money, continued to fire their pistols as they approached their horses, which were being held by one of their henchmen in front of the bank. A robber wearing a blue bandanna over his face saw Stone in the middle of the street and drew a bead on him.

  Stone yanked out his pistol and fired. The robber dropped his pistol and staggered backward. Another robber was mounting his horse, swinging his leg over the saddle, and Stone fired again. The robber kept going over his saddle and slid down the other side, dropping to the ground and lying still.

  The other robbers became aware of Stone firing at them. They aimed their pistols at him and let loose a barrage of bullets that whizzed around him and slammed into the dirt near Mortimer’s hooves. Stone pulled his rifle out of its boot and leapt down from his saddle, running toward the far side of the street, diving behind a water trough.

  Bullets whacked into the water trough, and water spurted out of the holes. Stone raised his head and saw some of the robbers climbing onto their horses, while the others continued to shoot at him, but he was an old soldier and it wasn’t the first time in his life that he’d been under fire.

  He levered the rifle and lined up the sights on one of the robbers who’d mounted a horse. He squeezed the trigger, the rifle barked, and the robber leaned to the side, dropping his pistol, falling to the ground. Another bullet struck the water trough, but Stone didn’t flinch. He jacked the lever of his rifle, aimed at a robber on a horse, and squeezed the trigger again. The robber leaned forward and screamed, grasping his stomach with both his hands.

  Stone worked the lever quickly. Four robbers were still alive on the far side of the street. One was mounted, ready to gallop out of town; the others had taken cover and were returning Stone’s fire.

  Stone glanced to his left and right. The street that was so crowded a few moments before had become deserted. People lay on the boardwalk, covering their heads with their hands. Children whimpered and dogs barked. Where the hell was the sheriff?

  The robber on the horse attempted to gallop away. Stone led him with the barrel of his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The robber was knocked out of his saddle and he dropped his saddlebag, but his foot was caught in a stirrup and his horse dragged his lifeless body out of town.

  A bullet whistled past Stone’s ear, and he lowered his head behind the trough. A few feet away, a woman lying on the sidewalk looked at him with terror in her eyes. Stone knew he had a major advantage over the robbers on the far side of the street. They had pistols that were inaccurate at long distances, whereas his rifle could shoot the eye out of a squirrel at five hundred yards.

  He raised his head and looked across the street. Three robbers lay on the sidewalk over there, and time was running out for them because they couldn’t remain where they were indefinitely. Stone aimed his rifle at one of them, whose shoulder was showing behind a post that held up the roof in front of the bank. Stone’s rifle exploded and kicked, and the robber went limp, his face dropping onto the boardwalk.

  Now two robbers were left. They looked at each o
ther and made a run for it, heading for their horses. One jumped into his saddle, and Stone shot him through the chest. The robber coughed blood and dropped his pistol, sagging to the side, falling to the ground.

  The other robber landed in his saddle and wheeled his horse, putting the spurs to him, galloping away from the bank. Stone fired his rifle, and the hammer clicked. Something was wrong with the cartridge. Cursing, Stone ejected the bad cartridge and ran into the middle of the street. He dropped to one knee, raised the butt of the rifle to his shoulder, and took aim at the back of the robber riding furiously out of town.

  The robber crouched low in his saddle, slapping the haunches of his horse with his reins. Stone took a deep breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger. His sights were lined up in the middle of the robber’s back. The rifle fired and Stone became enveloped in gunsmoke. The robber jerked in his saddle and crouched even lower. Stone levered the rifle and prepared to fire again when he noticed the robber slipping out of his saddle. The robber tried desperately to hold on; clawing at his horse’s mane, but his life was ebbing out of the hole in his left kidney. He toppled to the ground, rolled over a few times, and was still.

  Stone got to his feet. Dead robbers were everywhere, and saddlebags full of money lay on the ground. It was like standing in the middle of a ghost town. Stone clicked the safety switch on his rifle and stood with his legs spread apart, the wide brim of his hat casting a shadow over his bearded face.

  “Is it all over?” somebody asked.

  “Looks that way,” another person said.

  People raised themselves off the boardwalks and stepped cautiously out of doorways, the men carrying rifles and pistols. Women adjusted their bonnets, and children held on to their mothers’ skirts. Gradually the town came to life again, and a crowd formed around Stone, looking at him curiously.

  A man in a suit walked out of the Petie Savings Bank, carrying a rifle, followed by two clerks wearing eyeshades. The man in the suit grinned broadly as he approached Stone.

  “That was a helluva show you just put on,” he said. “Who are you anyway?”