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  I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it. I really like James and Carson as people, not just characters in a book. So I think you can expect to hear more from them in the future.

  Chuck Buda

  P.S. I hope you will join us in Book 2 to find out what rolls into town with the tumbleweeds.

  I feel safer with you by my side.

  Haunted Gunslinger

  James Johnson, illegitimate son of the legendary Wyatt Earp, moves to Wichita, Kansas for a fresh start. He brings his mother and his mentally disabled friend, Carson, with him. But fresh starts bring new problems.

  Each year, on the same date, a gunslinger ghost shoots up Main Street at high noon. The apparition replays its last moments alive. The townsfolk believe the legendary spirit to be a residual haunt. Until the gunslinger finds a way to finally win a shootout.

  Can James and Carson defeat the Haunted Gunslinger before more innocents die? Or will the Devil win the West?

  Supernatural spirits can be deadly gunfighters…

  This is a creepy tale of supernatural horror.

  Haunted Gunslinger is the second novel in the Son of Earp series by Chuck Buda. It is approximately 55,000 words and contains adult language and scenes of horror. Reader discretion is heavily advised.

  Haunted Gunslinger

  By Chuck Buda

  Copyright © Chuck Buda (2016).

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any semblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The author has taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read his work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought this book, or telling your friends or blog readers about this book to help spread the word.

  Thank you for supporting my work. Without you the story would not be told.

  Cover art by Phil Yarnall /SMAYdesign.com

  Contents

  Haunted Gunslinger

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Special Thanks

  Prelude

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Continue the Adventure

  Director’s Cut

  Join the Earpers

  About the Author

  I Need Your Help!

  My Other Series

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my father for exposing me to the Wild West.

  Special Thanks

  I would like to thank Christopher Zingaro and Travis Russo.

  Prelude

  Sammy Tucker tripped over his own two feet and sprawled across the porch. His fall narrowly missed Jeanette Harper and the horse trough in front of the haberdashery. Jeanette gasped at the near collision and then went about her business when she realized it was Sammy. Several men across the street enjoyed a good laugh at Sammy’s expense. He stood up and dusted himself off. Then he straightened his hat and strolled off down the street, pretending like nothing had happened.

  The daily bustle continued throughout the town. Folks were chatting and buying groceries at Miller’s. The hot morning sun brought sweat stains to just about everybody’s clothing. Everyone except Mrs. Donovan, of course. She waddled down the center of Main Street with her lilac parasol shading her chubby face. Her maize-colored skirt glided along the dusty road behind her. She wore her white gloves regardless of the heat because it would be uncivilized to appear in public less formally. She kept her nose in the air lest she breathe in the horse droppings that spotted the town.

  The bell tower chimed twelve o’clock, signaling noon time to the residents of Wichita.

  A gun shot rang out.

  A few women leaving Miller’s screamed. They dropped their parcels of sundries and skittered into the haberdashery. Mrs. Donovan wasted no time either. She flung her parasol and rolled across the street until she made it into Clip’s Barber Shop. Jeanette Harper rounded the building for the safety of the alleyway.

  Wesley Masterton dropped behind a rain barrel and pulled his six shooter from its holster. He cocked the hammer and peered up the street. Besides the townspeople running to and fro along the sidewalks, the street was empty.

  Another gun shot sounded. A puff of smoke drifted slowly along Main Street as the heat tried to drag it down.

  Sammy Tucker screamed out as the slug entered his leg. He was sprinting up the street when the second shot connected with his hamstring. Sammy grabbed the back of his leg and crawled on his belly for the tavern. It was at least fifty yards from where he lie but it was his closest option at cover. Sammy cried from the pain of the hot lead, a streak of dirty tears running down his cheeks.

  A third shot was fired. As the wisp of gun powder floated, Sheriff Axl Morgan charged out into the street. His rifle was drawn as his dark eyes surveyed the landscape for the shooter. A quiet calm settled in. Folks were no longer screaming or shouting, preferring not to give up their hiding spots.

  The sheriff noticed a hazy image that hovered near the center of town, right in the middle of the street. He narrowed his eyes to focus on the oddity. It appeared to be the form of a man, yet Sheriff Morgan could see right through him. Morgan raised his rifle to sight in the gunslinger, only to find an apparition where the man was last standing. He lowered his head so that the brim of his white hat would eliminate the sun’s glare from the barrel. But it didn’t help. The apparition stood in the middle of the road with its gun drawn.

  Morgan cocked the lever of the rifle. Before he could squeeze off a round another shot fired from the ghost’s weapon. The bullet found its mark in Sheriff Axl Morgan’s shoulder, narrowly missing his chest. The impact of the shot sent the sheriff flying backwards. He dropped his rifle and clutched his wound after hitting the dirt. Blood flowed through his fingertips as he attempted to put pressure on the hole.

  The gunslinger ghost laughed out loud in a sinister, evil fashion. It fired two more rounds down the street which danced up pebbles as they landed. The twisted laugh faded into the humid air along with the form of the shooter. A sense of peace came over the town and folks began to poke their heads back up to see what had happened.

  Sheriff Morgan rolled onto his side to look for help. The blood from his shoulder slowed to a trickle. But he was very much in pain. The men who laughed at Sammy Tucker crossed the street to attend to the sheriff. They helped him up and carried him to Doc Stinson’s. A
s they went, the men asked Morgan if he saw what they did. The sheriff replied that he didn’t see anything which is why he got shot.

  Jeanette Harper and Ed Miller ran to Sammy Tucker. He had balled himself into a fetal position with one hand grabbing his leg wound. The tears that streaked his face made him look like the saddest or dirtiest clown ever seen. Jeanette felt sorry for the clumsy man now that he had been shot. She stroked his greasy hair and told him that he would be okay.

  Ed Miller checked the wound and declared that it had passed straight through the side of his thigh. He told Sammy that he would live but Sammy just buried his face in Jeanette Harper’s bosom and cried more emphatically. He liked the attention he was getting for the first time in his life. And he loved the smell of Jeanette’s powdery breasts. He thought he might as well milk the moment for what it was worth. Pun intended, he smirked gently beneath his cries.

  With the shooting finished, the townspeople congregated in the street to compare notes on what they saw or thought they saw. Everyone was stunned that a ghost had appeared in their quaint little town. Not just a ghost, but a ghost that could shoot a gun and harm living people. Women started saying prayers to protect themselves from the evil spirits. Men cussed in circles about the work of the devil. They wondered aloud about how they might try to protect their families.

  Mayor Tom Samuels ran his sweaty hands through his long gray hair before replacing his hat upon his head. He thought to himself that he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own blue eyes. He had seen the ghost gunslinger before. He knew who the man was, at least when he was alive. The ghost was Francis Dodson, sure as shootin’, he thought to himself. The mayor recognized the hazy face as clearly as if the man were still among the living. But he didn’t want the people of town to panic. If they believed they saw a ghost then folks might move out of town and take their votes with them.

  Chapter 1

  James swung the door open and entered the room. He went straight for the wash basin to clean the dirt from his hands before eating lunch.

  “Hi, Mom. Hey, Carson.”

  “Hello, James. You’re home a few minutes early.” Sarah, James’ mother, sat at the table sipping a cup of tea. She lowered the cup and peered at James with her crystal-blue eyes.

  “Yeah, I ran home because I am so hungry I could eat two horses.” James ruffled Carson’s hair with his wet hands. Carson shot James an angry look and then just as quickly smiled that his best friend was home from work. “Mr. Miller let me go a few minutes early too on account of my quickness with stacking the bags of feed.”

  James fixed himself a sandwich of apple butter and cheese. As he put the pieces together, Carson left the table to follow closely behind James. The older boy didn’t mind the younger shadow. He enjoyed Carson’s company and looked upon him as a little brother, rather than a friend.

  “Would you mind heating me another tea, dear? I keep feeling a draught from the hallway.”

  “Sure, Mom.” James set the tea pot on the small, cast iron stove. He almost stepped on Carson when he turned around. Then he hurried to the table to eat his sandwich. Carson followed James to the table. “Wanna know what I heard at the store?” James tore a piece of his sandwich off and handed it to Carson who cheerfully took a bite.

  “Is it appropriate for the audience? I don’t want you to tell another story about Sammy Tucker’s restroom habits at the table.” Sarah rested her head on her hands.

  “Naw, nothing like that.” James reddened. “Anyway, I heard Mrs. Donovan complaining to Mr. Miller about the high-noon-shooter. And everybody in town is worried that he will come back again this year.” James spoke with a huge ball of sandwich in his cheek.

  “What is a nooner-shooter?” Carson imitated James with a lump of sandwich stuffed in his cheek.

  “Not a nooner-shooter. A high-noon-shooter. Apparently, each year on June 22nd, a ghost appears in the middle of town and shoots off its gun.” James paused to observe his mother’s reaction. She tilted her head at James as if he were making up a silly tale. Carson soaked it all in. He stopped chewing the sandwich and stared at James with wide open eyes. “Honest. I heard Mrs. Donovan say that the first time it happened Sheriff Morgan and Sammy Tucker got shot.” Carson swallowed the lump of sandwich whole with a loud gulp.

  “Don’t you think it’s just a tall tale to entertain people?” Sarah chided James for believing such a far-fetched story. She raised her arms to fix the braid in her long, black hair.

  “Mr. Miller said that it really happened and that Mayor Samuels insists that it never happened even though everyone in town witnessed it.” James couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice. “The 22nd is tomorrow and I can’t wait to see what happens.”

  Sarah tsked out loud. She rolled her eyes and moved to the stove to pour herself some tea. “I don’t think it is real. And even if it were real, I think you had enough supernatural adventures to last a lifetime.” She shot a glance at Carson who didn’t pick up on her reference to the battle with Crouching Bear.

  James watched Carson’s face to make sure he didn’t realize what they were talking about. He was relieved to see that Carson had now occupied himself with stealing another piece of James’ sandwich. James smiled to himself that Carson had a big appetite for such a small boy. “Well, I don’t think I could do anything about it anyway. I just want to see it for myself.”

  “I want to see it for myself too.” Carson spoke through a new lump of sandwich in his cheek. James patted Carson’s shoulder.

  “I won’t let you see it since you will be home for lunch. I’ll make a nice, thick soup so you have to sit in here and eat slowly. That way you won’t have time to wander around the streets while this ghost legend is showing itself.” She poured her tea and then took a small sip. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back downstairs and see how the preparations are coming along. No rest for the madam.” Sarah kissed James’ forehead and then left the room.

  When they had moved from Iowa to Wichita, Sarah landed the madam job at the brothel. She told James that she wanted to quit the business and start over. But when they arrived in Wichita, the only open position at that time was for a new madam. Lady Brodsky had passed away from a long bout with syphilis. And the rest of the girls in the brothel were too young or inexperienced to run the show. So Sarah was hired on the spot and she was finally able to quit the working side of the business.

  James looked down at his plate and realized that Carson had eaten almost all of his sandwich. He was so excited about the ghost gunslinger that he had filled his mouth with words instead of bread. He smiled at Carson and then rose to make himself another sandwich. While he fixed the next one, Carson issued a loud burp behind him. James laughed out loud which got Carson laughing too.

  “What do you think the shooter looks like? I’ll bet he is all white and mean looking. He probably has black eyes.” James leaned across the table to imitate a scary ghost as he returned to the table. Carson’s eyes opened wide and he leaned back in his chair to distance himself from the image.

  “I don’t want to see the nooner-shooter. He scares me.”

  “Aw, you’ve never seen him, Carson. Besides, I got you covered. You know I would protect you from anyone, including evil spirits.” James raised his hands above his head to simulate a monster grabbing the young boy. Carson got up and ran out of the room, screaming all the way down the hall. James laughed to himself and took another bite of his sandwich. As he chewed he heard his mother scream up the stairs.

  “JAMES!”

  “Uh-oh.” James swallowed the lump of sandwich and then quickly cleaned up after himself. He stuffed the uneaten portion of the sandwich into his shirt pocket and then he raised the bedroom window. He heard his mother’s stomping feet coming down the hall toward the room. James swung his legs out the window and closed it behind him. He would have to slide down the porch post to escape his mother’s anger.

  Chapter 2

  “Ain’t no such t
hing as ghosts. It’s hogwash.” Mayor Tom Samuels slammed his shot glass down on the table. It was late afternoon and the saloon was slowly filling up as the town finished working for the day. Once he overheard men discussing the gunslinger ghost at a nearby table, he decided he couldn’t keep his opinions to himself. He was afraid that people would panic again. Each year, the town’s reaction grew.

  Randall Gilbert stared at the Mayor. “You seen it yerself. Them boys was shot clear as day.”

  A small crowd had formed around the Mayor’s table as patrons sensed the ensuing debate.

  The Mayor rubbed his gray goatee and shook his head. He poured himself another whiskey and looked around at the faces in the crowd. “People were scared for no good reason. So they shot around the streets blindly. That’s how those men got hurt.” He lied easily as political life had prepared him for decades. He downed another drink and pursed his lips at the burn going down his throat.

  “Now look here, Tom. We all seen what happened with our own eyes. That ghost done shot up the town hisself, and you know it.”

  “That’s Mayor to you, Philip.” The Mayor glared at the lanky man hovering over him. “And don’t tell me what I saw. You were there. I was there. Most of us were there. The excitement messed with folks’ minds. Somebody went off half-cocked and fired their gun, which sent everyone running and shooting. Of course, somebody was bound to get hurt.” He looked around at all the disbelieving faces. “Then you all sat around like a bunch of old hens, spinning a yarn to fix everyone’s britches into a knot.”