The Guns of Santa Sangre by Eric Red

Author:Eric Red
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2013-11-05T05:00:00+00:00

Backs to her in their saddles, out of earshot of the girl behind them, the hard men shared a smirk.

“Good luck is right, because none of us got any intention of coming back,” Fix murmured.

“If or when we get any silver, we be long gone,” Bodie said.

“We got to get the silver first,” Tucker pointed out.

“That’s a fact,” said Fix.

The sun was high and brutally hot as the men rode up. The trail passed by the embankment where they had scouted the town, then widened as it turned into a downgrade leading to the western edge of the village. The three rode slow, their weapons close at hand, the only sounds the clop of hooves, occasional snort of their horses, tumble of dislodged stones and the squeak of saddle leather. They were on full alert, their eyes moving left and right in a clockwork scan. The time for killing had come, and this was what they were good at and all talk ceased, because as the adrenaline began to pump and their senses became sharp, the three were one. Gradually, the trail spilled out at the base of the valley and put them eye level with the first shacks of the place they had come to clean up.

The village lay ahead.

The gunfighters rode fearlessly down into the town and past the adobe huts and wood fence corrals of the settlement that was quiet as a cemetery. It was preternaturally silent. The three rode side by side in a flank formation. Then they saw movement. Five bandits rode their horses around the area, eyeballing them. The big hairy men in the loose-fitting clothes and cut-off vests were armed to the teeth in their dusty weathered saddles, their open shirts showing the coarse black hair on their unwashed chests. Swarming flies buzzed around them. Their horses seemed cowed and fearful of their owners, eyes wide with fear. Tucker, Bodie and Fix just kept riding, like nothing was happening. Five more bandits appeared as if out of nowhere. Now there were ten. The gunfighters rode on through the town, hands near their pistols and rifles, waiting for the banditos to make a move, but the slimy brigands just watched them curiously, and assembled. Tucker had seen enough wolves in his life to admit to himself these scum shared the same wary, head bobbing, unblinking way of regarding a man.

Bodie chuckled. “Wolves who walk like men, my ass. These are just plain old bandits, boys. But I can see how the villagers might’ve gotten that impression bein’ as these varmints are mangier than any coyotes I can recall.”

Fix clicked his teeth. “We don't need to waste the silver on bullets, that’d be too good for ’em.”

Tucker’s gaze moved left and right. “There’s sure a lot of ’em.”

Then all of a sudden the Jefe was right in front of them, straddling his horse and blocking their way. He was a huge, fat Mexican man of indeterminate age with long hair streaked with gray and ammunition belts crisscrossing his chest.

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