Blood Moon by Richard Dawes

Author:Richard Dawes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mexico, revenge, western, widow, new mexico, killers, outlaws, bandits, rancher, range war, gang of outlaws, tucson kid
Publisher: Melange Books, LLC

“Better...much better,” Tucson commented. “Leave speed for later. Speed will come naturally once you’ve mastered the basic movement. Now, put the gun back in the holster and let’s work on cocking it as you bring it up.”

They worked for another hour refining Paco’s technique. The boy had an instinctive knack for handling the gun, and Tucson never had to make the same point twice. All Paco needed was direction; then some innate talent took over and guided his movements. Tucson had never seen anyone pick it up so fast.

“Well, that’s it for now,” he said, finally. “Work on what you’ve learned so far, and we’ll get into target practice in a few days.”

Paco’s face glowed with pride.” Gracias, Señor!”

Tucson pointed his finger at Paco’s chest. “Don’t forget what we talked about earlier. And remember this: no matter how fast you are or how accurately you can shoot at targets, you won’t know if you really have what it takes to be a gunman until you actually face another man in a life and death gunfight. Then you’ll find out real fast, with no second chances, just who you are.”

* * * *

About five miles south of the bridge, Tucson halted and studied the banks of the river.

“What is it, Señor?” asked Paco.

Tucson pointed to the opposite bank. “See there on the other side, how clear of brush the slope is, and then here on this side, the same thing?”

“Si...”

Tucson dismounted, waited for Paco to do the same, then walked to the crest of the bank.

“The river moves slower here, further away from the mountains,” Tucson observed, squatting on his heels and studying the terrain. “The bottom of the river is sandy and level, and about belly deep for a horse.” Reaching down, he brushed some dead leaves out of the way and pointed to shod hoof prints. “Three Cross riders use this place to cross over,” he said. “It looks like they tried to brush out most of the tracks, so they wouldn’t be noticed.” He nodded to himself. “This is the place. This is where they’ll cross the Pinon when they attack the Spanish Bit. They won’t use the bridge...they’ll expect us to be watching that.”

Satisfied that he had found what he had been looking for, Tucson and Paco mounted back up and started north again. They had been riding for about ten minutes when three horsemen appeared from behind a stand of cypress trees, and rode toward them.

Tucson pointed to a gnarled old oak twenty yards to their left. “Get over there behind that tree—now!”

Hearing the steel in Tucson’s voice, Paco jerked his pinto around, sunk in the spurs, and galloped over to the oak.

Tucson loosened his Colt in its holster, slowed the stallion to a walk, and continued on toward the riders. They came on at an easy canter, finally reining in about ten feet from Tucson.

“Howdy, mister,” said the huge, bearded man in the middle. His Stetson was sweat-stained and he wore range clothes, but the well-kept Colt .

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