The Witch of Silver Mesa: A Riveting Western Novel With a Supernatural Twist (Zeb Clemens Book 3) by J.R. Rain & Matthew S. Cox

The Witch of Silver Mesa: A Riveting Western Novel With a Supernatural Twist (Zeb Clemens Book 3) by J.R. Rain & Matthew S. Cox

Author:J.R. Rain & Matthew S. Cox [Rain, J.R. & Cox, Matthew S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2024-01-26T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter Twelve

The Old Wharton Gang

The closer Zeb got to the house, the worse it looked.

Several holes in the roof let sunlight fall directly in on the second story. Two of the beams supporting the roof over the front porch were missing entirely, save for splintered stumps. A section of the banister around the front caved in where it seemed a person had crashed into it. Multiple windows appeared broken. Last, and most significant of all, hundreds of tiny holes riddled the wall—the kind of tiny holes left behind by bullets.

Not that it made any sense, but the entire building seemed… angry.

His rudimentary knowledge of the area crashed into a memory of sitting at the office chatting with Jim and Conley. He figured this must have been the house where the Wharton gang met their end. It happened some time ago, before Conley was old enough to shave and Zeb had any idea he’d end up fighting in the Civil War.

Heat shimmered off the ground on both sides of the old grey structure. Zeb half expected to see the restless spirits of the dead rise out of the blurry haze.

“Looks like a heck of a shootout happened here.” Elias pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed sweat from his forehead and face.

Watching that made Zeb feel hotter, even though he hadn’t started sweating yet. Elias didn’t have the advantage of having lived here for over a year. All things considered, Zeb got used to the heat of the New Mexico territory much faster than he expected to, thanks to having spent a few years in the south with the Union Army’s push. Sure, this place could get hot, but Georgia got hot and damp, making it significantly less comfortable.

The Pinkerton man likely couldn’t wait to be done with this affair and go back to Chicago.

Elias regarded the house with a muted grimace, as if mildly horrified at the idea they might have to go inside. After a moment of staring, he eased himself down from his saddle and dusted his hands off. “Is this horse going to run off, or should I tie it to the railing?”

“Wouldn’t matter. Horse’d still run off if it cared to, and pull half the house down on the way.” Zeb dismounted and approached the steps. “Careful in here. Floor might give out.”

“Wait.” Elias lunged over and caught Zeb’s arm. “Before you disturb anything, let me look around, please.”

Zeb paused. “I ain’t fixin’ to disturb anything, but okay.”

“Thanks. I’m looking for signs that someone else has been here.” Elias crouched to look closer at the steps, frowning. After a minute or so, he stood. “Can’t tell. No footprints in the dust.”

Nodding, Zeb proceeded inside with great care.

The floorboards both on the porch as well as inside creaked under his weight. It felt more solid than he expected, allowing him to relax somewhat and walk normally after a few steps. Little remained inside other than a few pieces of large furniture too damaged in the gunfight to bother taking.



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