John C. Horst's Blog, page 19

He checked his Winchester and six shooter. He did not need to check his kirpan, it was always with him, ready to give good service.

The Sikh rolled away from the dying horse, pulling the Winchester from its scabbard. He looked in the direction of the sound. The assassins were up in the hills, too far away to see. The distance was too great for the Sikh’s Winchester to reach.

Dirt and rock kicked up around him. He was in the open and the assassin was aiming for his saffron-colored turban, clearly illuminated in the morning sunlight.

He dashed forward, moving a bit closer, and made it to a rise. The shooter could no longer see him and stopped firing.  Mr. Singh sat listening, the bad man not more than a hundred yards away. He could hear him speaking loudly to another person and was certain he’d have two men to kill.

He checked his Winchester and six shooter. He did not need to check his kirpan, it was always with him, ready to give good service.

He listened to the men for a while. The wind had changed and was blowing their words to him and he could tell for certain there were only two of them. They joked and laughed and he could tell that they’d likely been drinking all night. They were going to shoot him and make sport of it.

He looked the terrain over. They’d not sit around and wait for long and he thought about ambushing them when they came down. If they were on foot it would be easier, but they’d likely be mounted. This was taking too long. The men were lazy and bent on stretching this execution out. They were in no hurry to attack him. Allingham

Allingham is Free All Day Today!

There will be a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning. ~ Louis L'Amour

The place was a giant cesspool turned whirlpool that pulled all the badness of the land into it, until the vortex contained the giant soup of decadence and evil, contained the worst of human kind.

But Hell Street has a new enforcer, a lawman who has honed his skill in Hell’s Kitchen, the meanest of the Five Points district of Manhattan. Will it be enough?
Allingham is the story of one man’s struggle to face down his demons along with the meanest and most degenerate of human kind in the worst town in the last frontier of the West, Canyon Diablo, Arizona Territory.

"Allingham is for anyone who likes the suspense and action of a western, who enjoys the intrigue and mind games of a detective story, and who is interested in psychological drama - seeing how a man, forced to step up to the existential plate, can change the direction of his life." Patrick Smithwick, Author
Available at http://www.amazon.com/Allingham-ebook...Allingham

“I don’t hate you at all, child. Just the opposite. That’s why I’d never have a thing to do with you in that way.”

“I don’t hate you at all, child. Just the opposite. That’s why I’d never have a thing to do with you in that way.”

This made no sense to the girl, as sensual pleasure had been the only substitute, really, all her life, for love. She’d never even known a mother’s love. She cried harder and looked on at Francis who now worried a little over his snotty blanket.

“I don’t understand.” She coughed. “This don’t make no sense.”

He sat down beside her and smoked and thought on it. This was a difficult problem, and Francis was not really equipped to help confused little girls. It was not something he thought much about, as he had no sisters, only brothers, and he had little contact with the opposite sex.

“Janie.” He looked into her pretty brown eyes. “That carryin’ on. With men and such. That ain’t natural. What they do down there in the house, where you were, that ain’t right. That kinda carryin’ on, that’s for people who love each other, grown up people, between a husband and a wife. It ain’t the right thing, Janie.”

She finally stopped crying and he handed her one of his handkerchiefs. She blew her nose and finally began to calm down. She stood up, dropped the blanket and began dressing without giving it another thought. She was scandalous, to Francis’s mind, as the child had no sense of modesty and he wondered if she’d ever not be corrupt.

“They all, up there,” she pointed in the direction of the end of town, “say that the more men a gal gets, means the more she’s liked.”

“Well, liked and loved ain’t the same thing, girl. Hell, I like lots of folks, don’ mean I’m goin’ to do, you know, that with ‘em.”

She was exhausted now and he could see she needed sleep. They both needed sleep. He got her to lie down then pointed to his bed and called the dog over, who dutifully flopped down beside the child. Francis covered them both and kissed her on the forehead. He turned out the lamps.

“Go on and get some sleep, Miss Janie.” Allingham

Man who drinks like you and don’t eat; he’s gonna die.

Remington He stopped short as a man vomited a great fountain across his path. Francis looked at the man dubiously and then glanced at the sun overhead. It was late morning and, to Francis’s mind, not the normal time for drunks to spew their guts out. He looked the man over as the drunk wiped his mouth with a filthy shirt sleeve.

“Goddamn, mister, you’re a mess.”

The man looked him over, bewildered and a little annoyed. He belched in the deputy marshal’s face.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, mister.” Francis pointed at the vomitus on the ground. “Goddamn, I’ve seen little children with better self-control. What the hell’s wrong with you?” Francis was not angry, but he meant what he was saying. He didn’t like to see another human being in such a state.

The man looked as if he were going to cry as Francis dug around a vest pocket for his tobacco pouch. He twisted a smoke and handed it to the man; he twisted another for himself. “When’d you eat last, mister?”

He regarded the detritus on the ground, as if the man’s stomach contents might give him the answer to his question.

“Don’t know. Yesterday maybe. Think so. Can’t remember.” He hesitated, concentrated and then looked at Francis. “Not much hungry these days.”

“Come on with me. I’m gonna arrest you, get you something to eat.” He took the man by the shoulder, like a kindly old school master; this looked odd, as Francis was at least thirty years younger than the drunken man, who complied without argument. The old vagrant was thoroughly played out.

“Goddamn, son. Man who drinks like you and don’t eat; he’s gonna die.”

The man looked Francis dead in the eye and said, “When?” Allingham

I'll be go to hell.

He looked up and saw a rider approaching. The man eventually made it alongside. He nodded to Allingham and peered over the edge. He removed his hat to wipe his brow, revealing a head of curly hair, the kind most women like on a man. “I’ll be go to hell.” He looked on at Allingham and smiled as he put his hat back over his curly hair. “Bet there’s a fellar up there in Chicago puckerin’ pretty bad.”
Allingham ignored him, then had a thought. The man was intriguing. “What do you mean?”
“The dope up in Chicago who built the bridge too short.” He removed his hat once again and absentmindedly wiped his brow. “That’s what’s the hold up, you know.”
“No.”  
“Yep. That’s it. Some dope made the bridge too short, had it shipped all the way down, then all the way back up to make it longer. That’s why everyone’s sittin’ on their asses. They’re waitin’ for a new bridge to be built, and the railroad company doesn’t have enough money to pay them for it.” Allingham

I'll be go to hell.

Frederick Remington

Unforgettable Characters, Fast Moving Story, and a Great Finale - Loved it!

 5.0 out of 5 stars Loved it - great read!, March 31, 2013 This review is from: Allingham (Kindle Edition) I truly enjoyed Horst's Mule Tamer trilogy and was looking forward to his next book. Allingham was worth the wait. Horst is quickly becoming one of my favorite authors. His characters and plots have a way of pulling you in from the first page and keeping you captivated until the very end! Allingham is an interesting man. He doesn't understand that he has something to live for until he believes he has nothing to lose. His wild adventures and relationships in Canyon Diablo prove him to be a socially inept (if not unpleasant) but clear thinking, decent, and righteous man. He isn't perfect but he's probably the best thing that will happen to that hell of a town. I have missed the characters since I finished the book - especially you Francis. Unforgettable characters, fast moving story, and a great finale - loved it!

Not only a Western for Men

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful 5.0 out of 5 stars Not only a Western for Men, February 10, 2013 This review is from: Allingham (Kindle Edition) I so enjoyed "Allingham" from beginning to end. Such vibrant contrast in characters and cultures. The depiction of New York City,Hell's Kitchen 1882 to Canyon Diablo, Arizona. Great history and facts intertwined with an intriguing story. The settling of America, with world wide immigrants and all their differences. Again, good verses evil. Allingham, with the moral compass of a strong, determined, intelligent, and compassionate leader. What fun to watch his character expand and realize what life could be. Allingham and Frances along with many others, are unforgetable. I appreciate author John Horst's ability to give us an exciting journey with the underlying foundation of strong and capable women. This is a good Western for both men and women. Looking forward to more.

He’s the best surgeon in Mexico. I told him I’d shoot him if Rebecca did not make a full recovery.

Zapata was respectful and kind to Marta. He could see it in her eyes. She was not easily shaken this one, but her most favorite person in the world was lying in the next room. They did not know if she would live or die. She held Zapata’s hand and he covered it, patted her gently with his palm.

“He’s the best surgeon in Mexico.” He waited for Marta to look up. “I only just captured him a few days ago. I told him I’d shoot him if Rebecca did not make a full recovery.”

She smiled a weak smile and looked into his eyes. “General, if she dies, I don’t know, I don’t want to live.” Curtin heard her and his tears began to flow more freely. He wasn’t embarrassed. He didn’t care who saw him cry. 

An eternity passed and the surgeon finally emerged from her bedroom. He looked tired. He looked on at Zapata then to the others. “The wound is clean and the bleeding has stopped. She will likely lose some use of one lung, but they’ll live.” The Mule Tamer III, Marta's Quest

No law against being intimate with a corpse, Francis.

Sarah Holloway “No law against being intimate with a corpse, Francis.” He looked back at the cave. “Poor devil is done in.” And as if that had been a signal, a shot could be heard from within the cave. Francis raced back inside.

He emerged in short order, pale and incredulous. He looked into Allingham’s eyes. “Son of a bitch shot himself through the head, Captain. Shot himself right through the goddamned head.” Allingham