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  The townsfolk of Mineral Creek paid no attention to the stranger. It’s like they could almost smell a gunslinger with killing on his mind.

  The man, Jon Bosse, glanced around and squinted his eyes to see in the shadows. He looked as if he wouldn't rest ’til he's found what drove him on.

  Bosse recalled what happened a long time ago when he was a youngster fishing in the stream. A boy he knew asked for his help.

  “Hide this here gun for me. I got to leave town on account of a difficulty.”

  Taken by surprise, he lifted up the shotgun.

  The action earned him life in Yuma prison.

  But now he’s out.

  Now he’s back.

  Now he’s looking for revenge.

  TRAIL OF BLOOD

  PICCADILLY PUBLISHING PRESENTS 6

  By Paul Green

  Copyright © 2013 by Paul Green

  Published by Piccadilly Publishing at Smashwords: November 2013

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading the book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover image © 2013 by Westworld Designs

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  Chapter One

  Bill Douglas sat astride his horse on top of the Glorieta Pass and watched Brad Gunter peer through a telescope at the city of Santa Fe over seven thousand feet below them. The peaks of the Sangre de Christo or Blood of Christ Mountains glowed red in the orange sunset, a sight which had resulted in their unusual name. The dull sound of hammers striking metal could be heard from just a few miles away as men laboured to finish the tracks of the new Santa Fe Railway.

  ‘I can just about see a couple of rooftops from up here but what we’ve come for is waiting for us. Yeah, the First National Bank of Santa Fe is loaded up with cash for the taking.’

  ‘Are you sure this is going to work, Brad?’

  Gunter flashed a smile at his younger companion although the expression in his pale blue eyes did not change. Then he tapped the side of his nose and gave a conspiratorial wink.

  ‘I got inside information, kid. Stick with me and you’ll stay lucky.’

  Bill looked into his friend’s weather beaten features. At forty, Gunter was by far the older and more experienced of the two men so he ought to know what he was talking about.

  ‘Okay, when does the action start?’ Bill adopted a confident tone, trying to sound like a seasoned professional. He had reached the age of twenty four without committing a single crime and was anxious not to let his companion realise just how nervous he was.

  Gunter responded with a throaty laugh. ‘Relax, kid. We’ll go in at nine sharp tomorrow, just as the place opens. Is that soon enough for you?’

  Bill shrugged with an affected air of nonchalance. ‘Sure it is. Just knock off calling me kid all the time. I’m a grown man, same as you.’

  ‘I never said you weren’t did I? Look, just take it easy. I know you haven’t done this before and that’s okay. I want someone smart on this job who won’t just take things for granted. The fact that you’re inexperienced without being dumb means you’ll be careful and that’s what I need beside me tomorrow, a man I can depend on.’

  ‘I won’t let you down, Brad’ replied the younger man, somewhat mollified.

  Gunter clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Tomorrow we’ll both be rich. I’ll head home to Johnston and you can start over wherever you want. Now, let’s eat and get some shuteye.’

  Bill nodded his agreement. The deaths of his parents within days of each other had been followed by the discovery that the family farm was mortgaged up to the hilt. Forced to sell it in order to pay off debts, he had been left homeless and almost penniless. A chance meeting with Brad in a Colorado saloon had followed his last spell of employment on a cattle drive. After engaging Bill in conversation and discovering that he was handy with a gun, Gunter had made his offer of a partnership upon hearing his new friend’s tale of woe.

  ‘It’s these bankers and speculators who’ve done this to you. This is your chance to get even and make yourself rich into the bargain.’

  ‘I could also end up in prison or even with a rope around my neck’ Bill had replied.

  ‘I’ve been preparing for this job for almost a year’ Gunter told him. ‘I got a plan of the whole place from a clerk who works inside. He’ll get a cut and the rest of the money’s ours, maybe as much as a hundred thousand dollars each. What do you say?’

  ‘Okay, I’m in.’

  ‘Stick with me and you’ll stay lucky’ the older man said as they shook hands. It was a phrase he often repeated and Bill reflected that if all went well tomorrow, his meeting with Brad Gunter would turn out to have been the luckiest of his entire life. So far, his friend had staked him to a new horse, a gun and expenses during their trip and there was no reason to believe that he would not be as good as his word when they entered the bank tomorrow.

  Bill passed a restless night, too apprehensive to sleep much though his companion appeared to have no such difficulties and snored heavily. At last, dawn rose like an egg cracked over the mountain peaks and the two men enjoyed coffee and a light breakfast before checking their weapons. Each man had a colt frontier six shooter revolver and a Winchester 73 rifle, convenient since the same ammunition fitted both weapons. Speed would be of the essence if they were to succeed in their enterprise.

  Finally, Gunter stood up and ran a hand through his head of straw coloured hair. The gold band on his beaver Stetson glittered in the early morning sunlight as he put it on. Then, grinning, he donned a pair of round spectacles with tinted lenses such as a blind man might wear, hiding his distinctive blue eyes. Both men mounted up and rode off down the trail towards Santa Fe on the last leg of their journey. They continued in silence as they made their way through the Pecos wilderness, the cool of the mountains fading as they reached the city’s adobe walls. Narrow, winding streets lined with flat roofed houses, a few topped with terracotta tiles, gave way to the central plaza where they passed the colonial palace which now served as the governor’s residence. At last, they reached the bank, just as it opened and the first few customers stepped inside.

  Bill bolted the door behind him as he followed Gunter inside, both men pulling bandanas up over their faces. They followed the sequence of actions they had rehearsed many times before, Bill gesturing for the frightened customers to move over against the wall while Gunter ordered the clerks to fill a mailbag with cash. The minutes seemed to crawl by in slow motion on the grandfather clock as it ticked monotonously in the corner. Bill watched the five customers intently. One was a stocky individual wearing outdoor clothes, probably a cattleman. His beefy hand strayed slightly towards the inside of his jacket.

  ‘Keep those hands up!’ said Bill sharply and the man’s arm shot into the air. ‘Move once more and I’ll shoot’ he added with more conviction than he felt.

  A young woman dressed in black licked her lips nervously and then stared at him when he caught her eye.

  ‘Don’t worry, lady. Just keep still and we’ll be gone from here soon.’

  ‘Yes, and with my money too’ she answered tartly, surprising him with such a spirited reply.
/>   Meanwhile, Gunter was urging the clerks to hurry until at last they stopped, having collected all the cash from the stacks in front of them.

  ‘I know there’s a safe in that corner behind you, disguised as a cabinet. Open it.’

  The head cashier cleared his throat nervously. ‘Well, I don’t...’

  Gunter thumbed back the hammer on his revolver. ‘I won’t ask again.’

  The safe was opened immediately and the contents emptied into another mailbag. The two men then herded their prisoners at gunpoint toward a door which led down to a cellar. The head cashier was ordered to unlock it and did so hurriedly, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the keys.

  ‘Come on, hurry up!’ Gunter urged him.

  At that moment, there was a loud noise as someone was heard trying the front door.

  ‘Go see who that is!’ Gunter told Bill irritably.

  Bill gently drew back the bolt and stepped behind the door. A tall, well built man in a derby hat stepped into the bank and froze as a revolver was pressed against his ribs.

  ‘Get over there with the others’ Bill ordered him. The man raised his hands and stepped forward obediently. The door to the cellar had now been opened and the bank clerks filed down the steps with the customers following behind. The man in the derby hat made a sudden movement and Bill’s wrist was seized as his arm was jerked upwards. His gun went off, the bullet hitting the ceiling before Gunter spun around and fired at Bill’s assailant who then crumpled to the floor. The young woman screamed as the thieves looked at each other in alarm. The shots were bound to have been heard and the bank would soon be surrounded.

  ‘Let’s get out of here!’ shouted Gunter and the two men ran out of the building and leaped on to their horses. The alarm was already being raised as they galloped through the plaza and headed out of town. Bill ducked low in the saddle to avoid the shots that were being fired after them. They had the money, that much was true but this was hardly turning out the way Bill had expected. There would be a posse after them in no time and staying ahead of their pursuers was likely to prove difficult.

  Gunter led the way as they left Santa Fe behind and set off back up the trail toward Glorieta Pass. The plan was to lose their pursuers in the mountains before doubling back. Bill glanced anxiously behind every so often and within a couple of hours spotted the sight he dreaded. A cloud of dust was moving rapidly toward them and it appeared to be getting closer.

  ‘It looks like we’ve got company!’ he shouted ahead.

  Gunter did not reply but dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks as he pulled away from his companion. Bill struggled to keep up while the posse gradually narrowed the distance between the fugitives and their pursuers. Suddenly there was a shot from behind and Bill’s horse buckled beneath him, a gaping hole in its right flank. He managed to jump clear and Gunter stopped ahead of him. Bill threw him his bag of cash and then stepped forward to climb on to his companion’s horse.

  ‘Sorry kid, your luck just ran out.’

  Gunter’s eyes were like chips of ice as he spoke, the expression in them cold, hard and unyielding. They were the last words Bill heard before a series of shots ripped into his chest and he was engulfed by a hot, searing pain. It was quickly followed by a feeling of numbness before the world became a dark, swirling pool which drew him down into its depths.

  In the hours which followed, he seemed to surface occasionally and was dimly aware of muffled voices, of faces swimming partly into focus above him and a sensation of being carried. In the days which followed, it seemed to Bill that his injured body belonged to someone else. He could hardly move of his own volition and spent most of his time asleep. His wounds were dressed, soup was spooned into his mouth and he swallowed it obediently. At last, there came a day when he was well enough to sit up properly and take in his surroundings which consisted of a narrow bed and the adobe walls of a tiny, windowless cell.

  ‘Doc Holman took four bullets out of you, you’re damn lucky to be alive.’ Bill turned in the direction of the gruff voice which had spoken these words to see that it was owned by a burly individual who wore a silver star pinned to his cowhide vest. From the salt and pepper colour of his beard and head of thick, wiry hair, he judged the lawman to be in his late forties, at least.

  ‘I’m Marshal Troy Calvert and it’s my job to uphold the law in this territory. Who might you be?’

  ‘Bill Douglas.’

  ‘Well, Bill Douglas, you’re in one big heap o’ trouble and it could take you a good twenty years to get out of it. You’ll be nearly my age by then, I reckon.’

  ‘I guess there’s no point trying to deny what I’ve done’ acknowledged Bill ‘but I don’t know how you figure such a long sentence.’

  Calvert fixed him with a hard gaze through the barred door of the cell. The eyes were a very dark brown, almost black and there was a glint of determination in them.

  ‘A man got killed while you and your friend stole three hundred thousand dollars.’

  ‘That friend you mentioned pumped me full of lead and I didn’t kill anyone. ’

  Calvert shrugged as he stuffed a horn rimmed pipe with tobacco and then lit it. The pungent odour filled the cell as he puffed out a cloud of smoke.

  ‘You were there and you had a gun too. Fortunately, there are witnesses to say you didn’t fire the shot that killed a man but the judge will want to make an example of you, given what happened, especially since the other guy got away with the money.’

  ‘I can’t help that’ said Bill, defensively.

  Calvert drew up a chair and sat down. ‘No but you could help yourself a great deal. Tell me the name of your accomplice, plus a good description and where he might have gone. He’ll hang for murder when he’s caught and you’ll get a lighter sentence.’

  Bill was briefly tempted by the offer. After all, he was in no condition to attempt an escape. Then he remembered the pain from the bullets that ripped through his flesh, the look in Brad Gunter’s eyes and the vast sum of money that should have been his. He would never have the chance to exact his own revenge or get what was due to him if he told Calvert what he wanted to know.

  ‘I’ll settle my own scores’ he said defiantly.

  The marshal shook his head in frustration and removed the pipe from his mouth. ‘Just how do you think you’re going to do that? Sure, your wounds will heal and you’ll have to move to another prison eventually but you’ll be chained up and under guard every step of the way. You’d best forget any hopes of catching up with the varmint who got you into this or of getting your hands on that cash.’

  Calvert’s words stung him and Bill turned his face toward the wall. He wanted to get even with Brad Gunter, to have money for once in his life instead of poverty and back breaking work. He was not ready to accept defeat or the prospect of years in prison.

  ‘You’re not the first young man to whom something like this has happened but the others weren’t so lucky’ added the lawman.

  Bill turned back to face Calvert. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There have been two similar bank robberies in the past year in New Mexico. Both involved an older man with a young accomplice who was found shot dead after the pair made their escape.’

  The realisation that Brad had intended to kill him all along enraged Bill even more and he gripped the blanket tightly with his fists. ‘I’ll kill that bastard if it’s the last thing I do’ he insisted.

  Calvert stood up. ‘You’re one stubborn son of a bitch. Don’t you realise what this means? Just one of those robberies would set a man up for life so anyone who commits three of them must be working for some organisation or network. He’ll be in for a generous cut of the proceeds and their protection. If you go after the man who shot you, it could mean pitting yourself against some pretty powerful and very ruthless people.’

  ‘The same goes for you, Marshal.’

  Calvert smiled. ‘Yes but I’ve got the law on my side. You’d best have a think about that. Help me and I’ll help yo
u.’

  As the lawman’s footsteps echoed away down the stone corridor, Bill lay back on the bunk, his mind racing. The knowledge that he had been duped from the beginning only made him more determined to find Brad Gunter and make him pay for what he had done. If Calvert was right and the man who betrayed him had powerful friends, then they would be made to pay too.

  These thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a young woman carrying a bowl of hot water, a towel and some bandages. Bill looked up and saw an oval shaped face with a dimple on each cheek and a pair of watchful grey eyes. She pushed a stray wisp of red hair back from her forehead as she unlocked the cell and entered, putting the bowl down. It was then that Bill recognised her. She was the girl he had seen in the bank and the sight of her made him suddenly ashamed of what he had done.

  ‘I’ve come to see to your wounds. Doc Holman figured you were in no state to go anywhere so the sheriff let me have the keys.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s very kind of you. I’m sorry if I made you frightened at the bank.’

  ‘You should be sorrier for taking my money out of it.’

  ‘I am. I’d give it back to you if I could.’

  To his surprise, she laughed. ‘I thought bank robbers were supposed to be ruthless.’

  ‘Well, I guess I’m not much of a bank robber. I’d never done anything like that before.’

  The girl looked up at him as she gently removed a bloodstained bandage. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Bill Douglas.’

  ‘I’m Rachel Adams.’

  ‘What were you doing at the bank, Miss Adams?’

  She dabbed at his wounds with a cloth soaked in warm water. ‘Just call me Rachel. I was there to see to my father’s financial affairs. He died a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘He had ten thousand dollars in that bank, his entire life savings and now it’s gone.’

  Bill felt sick with guilt. He grabbed the girl’s wrist impulsively. ‘I swear I’ll get your money back, Rachel, every last cent.’