Ever wondered what it's like to walk in the dusty cowboy boots of a Wild West hero? Buckle up, partner, we're riding alongside Laramie on his relentless quest for justice. As we pull back the saloon doors on 'Trigger Debt,' an enthralling tale from the 1935 issue of Western Aces, we're thrust into a world of somber revenge, notorious gangs, and chilling revelations. From Waters' Box W ranch to the ominous hideout in the Diablos, we're navigating the rugged landscapes of the Wild West, right in the crosshairs of danger and suspense.
Hold onto your hats as we dive headfirst into Chapter 3, a high-stakes game of cat and mouse where Laramie outwits a relentless posse, only to find himself ensnared by the ruthless Fate Gang. Feel the grit between your teeth and the tension in the air as we recreate this captivating tale, complete with the electrifying atmosphere of the old West. And don't go riding off into the sunset just yet - there's more adventure on the horizon in our next chapter, 'Side Winder Ramrod.' So, join us on this rollercoaster journey and experience the Wild West like never before. Yeehaw! To download this chapter go to Legends of Dodge City.
Return of the Great Hunters
Cattle Drives Website
Legends of Dodge City Website
Order Books
Ever wondered what it's like to walk in the dusty cowboy boots of a Wild West hero? Buckle up, partner, we're riding alongside Laramie on his relentless quest for justice. As we pull back the saloon doors on 'Trigger Debt,' an enthralling tale from the 1935 issue of Western Aces, we're thrust into a world of somber revenge, notorious gangs, and chilling revelations. From Waters' Box W ranch to the ominous hideout in the Diablos, we're navigating the rugged landscapes of the Wild West, right in the crosshairs of danger and suspense.
Hold onto your hats as we dive headfirst into Chapter 3, a high-stakes game of cat and mouse where Laramie outwits a relentless posse, only to find himself ensnared by the ruthless Fate Gang. Feel the grit between your teeth and the tension in the air as we recreate this captivating tale, complete with the electrifying atmosphere of the old West. And don't go riding off into the sunset just yet - there's more adventure on the horizon in our next chapter, 'Side Winder Ramrod.' So, join us on this rollercoaster journey and experience the Wild West like never before. Yeehaw! To download this chapter go to Legends of Dodge City.
Return of the Great Hunters
Cattle Drives Website
Legends of Dodge City Website
Order Books
This story was originally published in the October 1935 issue of Western Aces Starting life as an unsold submission written by pulp author Chandler Whipple. Popular writer Robert E Howard offered to rework and improve the tale, later published in Bookform and in other places as the Last Ride. Wild West Podcast produced the audio version of the original transcript as it was first published. This story is in the public domain. Chapter 3 Trigger Debt. Dusk was fast settling when he rode into the yard of the Box W. He was glad of the darkness, for he had feared that some of Waters' punchers might have been insanely on that day and seen him. But he rode up to the porch without having encountered anyone and saw the man he was hunting sitting there pulling in a corn cob pipe. Waters rose and came forward with his hand outstretched as Laramie swung from the saddle. "'you've growed', said the old man. "'i'd never know you if I hadn't been expecting you'. "'you don't favor your brothers none. Look a lot like your dad did at your age, though'. "'you pushed your coyews hard' he added with a piercing gland, to the sweat plastered planks of the sorrel. "'yeah, there was bitter humor'. Laramie's reply. "'i just got through shooting me a sheriff'. Waters jerked the pipe from his mouth. He looked stunned. "'what'? "'all you gotta do is ask the upright citizens of San Leon. This trail in me like a Lobo Wolf', returned Laramie with a mirthless grin and tersely and concisely he told the old rancher what had happened in San Leon and on the desert Waters, listened in silence, puffing smoke slowly. "'it's bad', he muttered when Laramie had finished. "'damn bad'. "'well about all I can do right now is to feed you. Put your coyews on the corral'. "'rather hide him near the house if I could' said Laramie. "'that posse's wobble to hit my son and trail me here any time I want to be ready to ride'. "'black's missed shop behind the house' grunted Walters. "'come on'". Laramie followed the old man to the shop, leading the sorrel. While he was removing the bridle and loosening the cinch Waters brought hay and filled an old log trough. When Laramie followed him back to the house, the younger man carried the saddlebags over his arm. Their gentle clink no longer soothed him. Too many obstacles to distributing them were rising in his path. "'i just finished eating before you come', grunted Walters. Plenty left. "'hop sing still cooking for you'. "'yeah'". "'ain't you ever gonna get married', chafed Laramie. "'sure', grunted the old man chewing his pipe stem. "'i just gotta have time to decide what type of woman it'd make me the best wife'". Laramie grinned. Waters was well past sixty and had been giving that reply to chafing about his matrimonial prospects as far back as Buck could remember. Hop sing remembered Laramie and greeted him warmly. The old Chinaman had cooked for Waters for many years. Laramie could trust him as far as he could trust Waters himself. The old man sat gripping his cold pipe between his teeth as Laramie disposed of steak, eggs, beans and potatoes and tamped it down with a man-sized chunk of apple pie. "'you're following blind trails', he said slowly. "'maybe I can help you'". "'maybe'".
Speaker 1:Do you have any idea who the jant on the showy pentome might be? Not many such paints in these parts. What would the man look like? Well, I didn't get a close-range look at him, of course. From what I saw, he looked to be short, thick-set, and it wore a short beard and a mustache so big it plum ambushed his pan. Why, hell snorted waters? That's bound to be Mark Raleigh. He rides a flashy pinto and he's got the biggest set of whiskers and sand.
Speaker 1:Leon who's he Owns the Red Load, come here about six months ago and bought it off of old Charlie Ross. Well, that don't help none, growled Laramie finishing his coffee and reaching for the makings, he paused, suddenly lighted, match lifted. Say did this homebray ride up from Mexico? He came in from the east. Of course he could have come from Mexico. With that He'd have circled the desert. Nobody but you, laramie, has ever hit straight across it. He ain't said he come from Mexico original and he ain't said he ain't.
Speaker 1:Laramie meditated in silence and then asked what about this new gang that calls themselves Laramies? Plain coyotes, snarled the old man. Us San Leon folks, was just getting on our feet again after the wreck your brothers made out of us when this outfit hit the country. They've robbed and stole and looted till most of us are right back where we were six years ago. They've done more damage in a few weeks than your brothers did in three years. I ain't been so bad hit as some because I've got the toughest, straightest shooting crew of punchers in the country. But most of the cowmen around San Leon are mortgaged to the hilt and stand to lose their outfits if they get looted anymore. Eli Harrison, he's president of the bank now. Since your brothers killed old man Brown. Eli's been good about taking mortgages and handing out money, but he can't go on doing it forever.
Speaker 1:Does everybody figure they're Laramies? Why not? They send letters to the cowmen saying they'll wipe out their whole outfit if they don't deliver them so many hundred head of beef stock. And they sign them letters with the Laramie name. They're hiding out in the Diabolas like you all did. They always the same number in the gang and they make a getaway through the desert, which nobody with Laramies ever did. Of course they wear masks, which the Laramies never did. But that's a minor item, custom change, so to speak.
Speaker 1:I'd have believed they was a genuine Laramies myself, only for a couple reasons, one being you'd wrote to me in your letter that she was the only Laramie left. You didn't give no details. The old man's voice was questioning. Man's reputation always follows him. Grunted buck, a bar room gladiator guy. He's a man. Grunted buck, a bar room gladiator guy. Jim Hank got that gunfighter the next week but was so shot up himself he died. Tom joined the revolutionaries and the Rarales cornered him in a dry wash, took him ten hours and three dead men to get him.
Speaker 1:Luke. He hesitated and scowled slightly. Luke was killed in a bar room brawl in Santa Maria by a two gunfighter called Killer Rollins. They said Luke reached first but Rollins beat him to it. I don't know, rollins skipped that night.
Speaker 1:I've always believed that Luke got a dirty deal some way. He was the best one of the boys. If I ever meet Rollins, involuntarily his hand moved towards the worn butt of his colt. Then he shrugged his shoulders and said you said there was two reasons why you know those coyotes weren't Laramies. What's the other one? They work different, growled the old man. Your brothers was bad, but white men just the same. They killed prompt, but they killed clean. These rats ain't content with just stealing our stock. They burned down ranch houses and pys and waterholes like a tribe of cussidopaches. Jim Bannerman and the Lazy B didn't leave him 200 head of steers in a draw, like they demanded in one of them letters.
Speaker 1:A couple days later we found nothing but smoke and ruins at the Lazy B, with Jim's body burned up inside and all his punchers dead or shot up. Buck's face was gray beneath its tan. His fist nodded on the gun butt. The devil, he choked, and a voice little above a whisper. And the Laramies are getting the blame. I thought my brothers dragged the name low, but these devils are hauling it right down into hell.
Speaker 1:Joel Waters, listen to me, I'll come back here to pay back money my brothers stole from San Leon. I'm staying to pay a bigger debt. The desert's big but it ain't big enough for a Laramie and the rats that wears his name. If I don't wipe that gang of rattlers off the earth, they can have my name because I won't need it no more. The Laramies owe a debt to San Leon. Agreed, old Joel, filling his pipe, cleaning out that snake den is the best way I know of paying it.
Speaker 1:Sometime later, laramie rose at last and ground his cigarette butt under his heel. We've about talked out our wampum. From all I can see, everything points to this Mart Raleigh being connected with the gang. Somehow he must have been the one that shot Bob Anders. He was ahead of the other fellas. They couldn't see him for a rise in the ground. They wouldn't have seen him shoot Anders. He might have been aiming at me or he might have just wanted Anders out of the way.
Speaker 1:Anyway, I'm heading for the Diabolos tonight. I know you're willing to hide me here, but you can help me more if nobody suspects you're helping me. Yet I'm leaving these saddlebags with you. If I don't come back out of the Diabolos, you'll know what to do with the money. So long they shook hands and old Joel said so long, buck, I'll take care of the money. If they get crowdin' you too close, duck back here. And if you need help in the hills, try to get word back to me. I can still draw a bead with a Winchester and I've got a gang of hard-riding waddies to back my play. I ain't forgettin' Joel.
Speaker 1:Laramie turned toward the door. Absorbed in his thoughts, he forgot for an instant that he was a hunted man and relaxed his vigilance. As he stepped out onto the veranda, he did not stop to think that he was thrown back into bold relief by the light behind him. As his boot hill hit the porch, yellow flame lanced the darkness and he heard the whine of a bullet that fanned him as it passed. He leapt back, slamming the door, wheeled and halted in dismay to see Joel Waters singing to the floor. The old man standing directly behind Laramie had stopped the slug meant for his guest.
Speaker 1:With his heart in his mouth, laramie dropped beside his friend. Where'd it getcha, joel? He choked Low down through the leg, grunted Waters already sitting up and whipping his bandana around his leg for a tourniquet. Nothing to worry about. You better get goin'. Laramie took the bandana and began nodding it tightly, ignoring a hail from without. Come out with your hands up, laramie.
Speaker 1:A rough boy shouted you can't find a whole posse. We've gotcha cornered. Beat it buck, snapped Waters, pulling away his friend's hands. They must've left their horses and sneaked up on foot. Sneak out the back way before they surround the house. Fork your coyews and burn the breeze.
Speaker 1:That's Mark Raleigh talkin', and I reckon it was him that shot. He aims to getcha before you have time to ask questions or answer any. Even if you went out there with your hands up, he'd kill ya. Get goin' dirt'n ya, alright. Laramie jumped up as Hop Singh came out of the kitchen, all mundized wide in a cleaver in his hand. Tell him I held a gun on ya and made ya feed me Taint. Time for him to know we're friends, not yet.
Speaker 1:The next instant he was gliding into the back part of the house and slipping through a window into the outer darkness. He heard somebody swearing at Raleigh for firing before the rest had taken up their positions, and he heard other voices and noises that indicated the posse was scattering out to surround the house. He ran for the blacksmith's shop and, groping in the dark, tightened the cinch on the sorrel and slipped on the bridle. He worked fast, but before Laramie could lead the horse outside, he heard a jingle of spurs in the sound of footsteps. Laramie swung into the saddle, ducked his head low to avoid the lintel of the door and struck in the spurs.
Speaker 1:The sorrel hurdled through the door like a thunderbolt. A startled yell rang out. A man jumped frantically out of the way, tripped over his spurs and fell flat on his back, discharging his winchester in the general direction of the Big Dipper. The sorrel and its rider went past him like a thundering shadow to be swallowed in the darkness. Wild yells answered the passionate blasphemy of the fallen man and guns spurred red as their owners fired blindly after the receding hoofbeats. But before the possemen could untangle themselves from their bewilderment and find their mounts, the echoes of flying hooves had died away and the night hid the fugitive's trail. Buck Laramie was far away, riding to the Diablos.
Speaker 2:My name is Mike King and I am the producer of Wild West Podcast, brad Smalley, and I would like to thank you for tuning in to another chapter of Boot Hill Pay Off. We hope you enjoyed this show and would like to invite you to join us for Chapter 4, side Winder Ramrod. In Chapter 4, buck rides to the Fate Gang's hideout and, during the night, climbs the side of a rocky cliff to sneak past the sentinel, only to be captured by the gang While a prisoner tied up in a chair. Buck remembers a hit-and-knife concealed in the chair and manages to get the drop on the gang.