A struggling rancher turned manhunter finds vengeance more rewarding than dollars in this Western adventure.
Times are hard for the Curtin clan. Farming and raising cattle don't bring in enough money, and payments on the ranch are due.
Sam Curtin is the best there is with a six-shooter—and there are more wanted men than the law can handle. To save the ranch, Curtin brings ruthless criminals to justice—dead or alive. He becomes known far and wide as The Judge, a bounty hunter who will outdraw any man for a fair reward.
But when his own brother is stabbed to death, there's more than money at stake.
This time the bounty is revenge, in Doug Bowman's Sam Curtin.
A struggling rancher turned manhunter finds vengeance more rewarding than dollars in this Western adventure.
Times are hard for the Curtin clan. Farming and raising cattle don't bring in enough money, and payments on the ranch are due.
Sam Curtin is the best there is with a six-shooter—and there are more wanted men than the law can handle. To save the ranch, Curtin brings ruthless criminals to justice—dead or alive. He becomes known far and wide as The Judge, a bounty hunter who will outdraw any man for a fair reward.
But when his own brother is stabbed to death, there's more than money at stake.
This time the bounty is revenge, in Doug Bowman's Sam Curtin.
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Overview
A struggling rancher turned manhunter finds vengeance more rewarding than dollars in this Western adventure.
Times are hard for the Curtin clan. Farming and raising cattle don't bring in enough money, and payments on the ranch are due.
Sam Curtin is the best there is with a six-shooter—and there are more wanted men than the law can handle. To save the ranch, Curtin brings ruthless criminals to justice—dead or alive. He becomes known far and wide as The Judge, a bounty hunter who will outdraw any man for a fair reward.
But when his own brother is stabbed to death, there's more than money at stake.
This time the bounty is revenge, in Doug Bowman's Sam Curtin.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466881426 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Tom Doherty Associates |
| Publication date: | 04/16/2025 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 320 |
| File size: | 730 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Sam Curtin
By Doug Bowman
Tom Doherty Associates
Copyright © 1994 Doug BowmanAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-8142-6
CHAPTER 1
Sam Curtin sat in the shade, astride his big chestnut gelding. For some time now he had been watching his nephew, seventeen-year-old Bud, practice with his handgun. The blond, blue-eyed youngster was small in stature, with a fine-featured face that was so handsome he almost looked girlish. Last year, after deciding that the big forty-four was too large for his small hands, he had paid the gunsmith to mount the same caliber on a smaller frame. He had learned early on that he could get the weapon into action quicker by tying the trigger down with rawhide and fanning the hammer with his left hand. Today, as he did every day of late, he was burning ammunition at the several small wooden blocks he had set up along the top pole of the old, seldom used corral. Bud made no secret of the fact that he wanted to be the fastest gun in Texas.
Sam stabled his horse and walked to the house. His older brother, Hamp, father of young Bud, sat on the porch in his rocking chair, spitting tobacco juice into a small bucket he held on his knee. Pointing down the hill to his son, Hamp spat the brown cud into the yard.
"That boy any good with that thing?" he asked.
"He's fast."
"Fast as you?"
"Could be. He does have one problem, though, that might get him hurt some day."
"Yeah?"
"He can't hit the broad side of a damn barn!"
Sam walked into the house to find that his sister-in-law, Lula, had seen him come up the hill, and had put food on the table. The sowbelly, turnip greens and cornbread that she served apologetically disappeared quickly.
"I hate to keep fixing the same old thing every day, Sam, but there just ain't nothing else. I can't see why Hamp don't butcher a steer."
"He would if he had a steer, but he only has the bull and a few heifers that will drop calves pretty soon. He sold every steer he had last fall to meet the mortgage. I understand his situation, he's afraid he'll lose the ranch if he can't come up with three hundred dollars more for the fall payment." Sam walked to the water bucket and drank from the dipper that had been made from the dried shell of a gourd. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and continued talking. "Two goats down at the barn, but nobody around here will eat them. I'll see if I can get a deer early in the morning."
"That'll help a lot, Sam," Lula said. "Seems like Bud can't be quiet enough to get one, and Hamp's got that bad foot that hurts him all the time." She then went to another room, continuing her housekeeping chores. Hamp's "bad foot" she had referred to had been run over by a wagon last winter and had never healed properly. The doctor in town had finally left the foot to nature's healing process, saying he could do no more. Hamp had mentioned having the foot amputated at the ankle and fitting himself with a peg. He believed that in doing so, the stump would heal and become tough and he could walk without pain. Sam thought that was probably true, but had offered no advice to his brother.
Hamp Curtin had bought the three-section ranch six years ago, and if he could just keep his nose above the water for the next four years he would own it outright. As of now, he had only two hundred dollars, and on November first a payment of five hundred would be due. How he could come by the additional money was a matter of great concern to him. Lula worried just as much, but was better at hiding it. She was constantly reminding Hamp that they had been down before, but had always bounced back. Things just naturally had a way of leveling out, she told him almost daily, and in the end most folks got as much as they deserved. She believed Hamp deserved the ranch free and clear, and was confident that it would turn out that way.
Hamp was quick to tell anyone who would listen that marrying Lula was the best decision he had ever made. The two had been classmates in school, and had married as teenagers in Pass Christian, Mississippi. They had come to Texas that same year in a covered wagon, trailing a milch cow and two redbone hounds. Many was the time that the cow's milk had been their main source of nourishment. The hounds took care of themselves, for they were good hunting dogs. With regularity, when the day's traveling was done, each of the canines would trot into camp with a rabbit or some other small animal clamped tightly in its jaws.
Shortly after their arrival in Texas the young couple had been lucky in meeting Ed Haynes, who had put them to work on the same ranch on which they now lived, growing hay and vegetables and tending cattle. Haynes had been well pleased with the hardworking Curtins and had kept them on year after year. At Haynes' untimely death his heirs had sold off the cattle separately, then sold the ranch to Abe Martin, who had resold it to Hamp Curtin.
The house and outbuildings were now in top condition, for prior to his accident Hamp had kept them so. He was a man well acquainted with hard work, and Sam had often made the remark that his brother covered more territory in a day than most men did in a week.
The Curtin ranch was a fine one indeed. Located in east-central Texas near the town of Calvert, it was watered by three clear-running creeks that flowed year-round. Several springs dotted the landscape and the soil would grow almost anything. The Curtins had fallen in love with the place at first sight. Young Bud had been born in the cabin down by the hay meadow, and the family had lived there until Haynes' death. Sam had also been raised in the cabin till he had gone to work breaking horses for an outfit in Fort Worth that supplied animals for the army. Now, Sam sat on the doorstep, looking down the hill to the stock pond.
"Abe Martin is not gonna get this ranch, Hamp!"
"Lord, that sounds good, but I sure don't know anything I can do to stop him. Lu's got that two hundred salted away somewhere but I'm three hundred short, with nothing coming in. The cattle wouldn't bring anywhere near that much."
Sam continued to stare down the hill because he could not bear to look at the worry and weather lines on the face of his brother, who was beginning to look stoop-shouldered and old before his time. The remembrance that Hamp had literally raised him after the deaths of their parents, often giving up things that he needed for himself so his younger brother could have more, was never far from Sam's mind.
"The cattle are not for sale, Hamp. You just keep your weight off that foot, I'm gonna get the money for you." Sam got to his feet and walked to the barn. A few minutes later he rode the chestnut through the gate and down the hill toward Calvert.
Located in Robertson County, the small town of Calvert had grown up almost overnight when the Houston and Central Railway, one of Texas' first, reached the crossroads of the bald Texas prairie in 1868. At times, as many as a hundred wagons loaded with goods bound for the coast would await the train's arrival. More than thirty thousand immigrants rode the rails as far as Calvert, then fanned out across the state by wagon, stage or mule during the railroad's first three months of operation. Population swelled to ten thousand, and Calvert was soon the fourth largest town in Texas. Honorable businessmen built Victorian homes, hotels, opera houses and theaters to impress the newcomers as they stepped off the train.
But, like all boomtowns, Calvert had another face that was much less apparent to the travelers. There were places in the area where a man could get shot simply for speaking out of turn. Sam Curtin had firsthand knowledge of the town's wild side. Four years ago he had shot a gunslinger dead in front of a dozen witnesses at a saloon across the tracks. All who saw the shooting testified that the draw had indeed been a fair one, that the young gunfighter had simply been unable to match the quick hand and marksmanship of Sam Curtin.
Today, Sam was in town to talk to Abe Martin. He knew Martin only slightly, but folks around town who knew him better seemed to think that he was no better or worse than any other businessman. When a note came due he expected his money, with no excuses.
Sam had heard it said that Martin had come to Calvert from St. Louis, but nobody seemed to know for sure. In this country that question was rarely asked of a man. One thing was obvious to all: he was a man of means. Martin had begun to buy up land in all directions upon his arrival, and now held mortgages on half the farms and ranches in the area.
Sam paused at the office door, over which hung a neatly painted sign: A. MARTIN — LAND CONSULTANT. Dressed inexpensively, with no hat on his graying head, the grossly overweight man sat behind a plain brown desk. At Sam's entrance, he was on his feet quickly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Curtin. What can I do for you?"
"I want to talk about my brother's ranch." Martin walked to a filing cabinet and soon was explaining to Sam that he could extend the due date on the mortgage till the first of the year, but no further. Sam thanked him for the sixty-day extension, and was about to leave the office when Martin spoke again.
"How would you like to earn the money to pay off your brother's mortgage?" Sam stood motionless for a moment. Then, with the slightest hint of a smile playing around his mouth, he turned to face Martin.
"Who do I have to shoot?"
"Nobody. I mean ... maybe nobody. I suppose you remember when little Kelly Ryan was raped and murdered between here and Hearne last year." Curtin nodded, and Martin continued, "The girl was my wife's cousin. Sadie took it mighty hard, and has literally been wasting away ever since." Martin reseated himself and pushed a chair forward with his foot, which Sam accepted. "There is a two-hundred-dollar reward on Curly Cook," Martin continued. "Everybody thinks he's the killer, but nobody wants the money bad enough to tangle with him. It's common knowledge that he's fast with a gun, and not terribly selective about who he points it at. I figure it'll take a man like you to bring him back to Calvert. These damn lawmen ain't gonna do it, they tremble like frightened animals when somebody mentions his name.
"I'm offering you a deal, Sam: you bring Curly Cook down that street out there sitting up or lying down, makes no difference to me, and I'll hand you a clear deed to Hamp's ranch."
"How do you know he's guilty?"
"Hell, that's what it adds up to. Marshal Pond had him in jail that same night, and he had blood on the front of his pants. Cook told the marshal the blood came from a fistfight he had been involved in. He was only charged with being drunk and disorderly, so he paid his fine and skipped the country before the girl's body was found." Martin, who had already smoked two cigarettes during the short time Sam had been in the office, now rolled and put a match to a third. "Cook was seen by two line riders that same day, less than a quarter mile from where the body was found," he said, coughing out a billow of smoke. "If he's innocent, why did he run? Why won't he come back and stand trial? He ran off and left a wife and young baby. That ain't normal, Sam."
"It might not be normal, but men do it all the time," Sam said. "When you put it all together, though, it does put Cook in a pretty bad light. I might just see if I can persuade him to come back and tell his side of the story. I'd be needing some expense money up front, Abe."
"Of course you will. I'll take care of it." Sam got to his feet and headed for the door.
"Keep this conversation between the two of us, Abe, and put the deal in writing, along with your guarantee that you won't foreclose on Hamp's ranch as long as I'm on Cook's trail, no matter how long it takes. I'll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow."
"That's fine, Sam. I'll be here at the office."
Sam Curtin's prowess with a six-gun was well known throughout Texas. He had traveled with a trade show for more than two years, demonstrating the quick draw and trick shooting. He had tried most of the short guns on the market, and had settled on the weapon that now hung from his belt in a cutaway holster that was tied to his leg with rawhide: the Colt single-action army revolver.
The "Artillery" model, so styled from its five-point-five inch barrel with six-groove rifling, was rapidly becoming the most famous handgun of all time. Among other names, it had been called the "New Model Army" and the "Frontier." Firing forty-five caliber ammunition, the revolver had a relatively slow muzzle velocity, but was prized by most Western men for its "knock-down-and-keep-down" shooting power. Texans simply called it the "Peacemaker."
Nodding to several acquaintances, Sam rode down the street and took the road to Hamp's ranch. Holding his horse to a walk, he was enjoying the cooling evening. He was thinking that with the ranch paid off, Hamp could take it easy and let nature build up his herd. He was expecting a good calf crop, then they themselves would drop calves and the cycle would continue. Within a few years he would have the herd he had worked so hard to obtain.
Sam always enjoyed this ride, viewing the creeks and hillsides, and the beautiful bluebonnets that grew everywhere. He knew of no place better suited to the raising of cattle, hay and grain.
His immediate problem, however, was how to bring Cook back to the county to face his accusers. He had seen Cook on several occasions, and would have no problem identifying him. Even though he might resort to disguises, the deep scar across the wanted man's nose would be difficult to hide, as would the dark hair that was so curly that even getting a comb through it was surely a problem for him. Sam doubted that Cook would come back without a fight. If that turned out to be the case, then so be it. He had decided to hunt the man down and bring him to Robertson County — one way or another.
Asking his brother to keep the information from Lula and Bud, Sam explained to Hamp what he had decided to do. Hamp objected loudly, then limped off to the barn, where he began to assemble the harness Sam would need for his pack animal. Later, Hamp went to bed without speaking to anyone.
One hour after sunrise the following morning Sam unloaded a large deer at the meathouse, asking Bud to butcher the carcass. The venison, along with the one hog that remained down at the pen, should sustain the Curtins till Sam's return, he thought. It was now time for him to be on his way. Half an hour later he rode into the yard, leading the small black mare that he would use for packing. Unhurriedly, he began to load the pack with the things he would need for what might turn out to be a long journey. Lula stood watching, but said nothing. As he rode out of the yard, she yelled to him, "You do be careful, Sam, you hear?"
He waved his hat and rode down the hill. An hour later he was in Abe Martin's office. Martin quickly handed him two hundred dollars and the agreement he was asked to put in writing. Abe said he had heard that Cook was living below the Mexican border, where he crossed the river into El Paso whenever he wished. Sam had heard the same thing, and intended to start his search there. As he neared the door, Martin called to him, "Just remember, Sam, he's a mean sonofabitch. Folks who saw the body said it appeared that the girl had been tortured before she was killed."
As Sam rode toward the livery stable many people who knew him took a second look, for they had never seen him leading a pack horse before. His loud knock on the barn door was answered by a man the townspeople called Arkansas, who went about filling Sam's order. The grain bags Hamp had fitted to the mare's back were now being filled with oats. As he worked, Arkansas began to ask questions.
"Goin' huntin'?"
"Maybe."
"Thought you might be goin' after Curly Cook. I saw ya goin' in an' out of Martin's office. I know he wants Cook real bad."
"Would you happen to know where Cook is?"
"No, an' I c'n tell ya right now, I don't wanna know. That man is sumpin' else. Why, once I seed him roll a can all th' way 'cross that corral pumpin' shots into it."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Sam Curtin by Doug Bowman. Copyright © 1994 Doug Bowman. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
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