Read Online The Guns of Santa Sangre by Eric Red - Free Book Online Page A

they were riders, how many there were he couldn’t tell. Durango was afflicted with sudden arid winds popping up and sweeping down the plains whipping up dust devils so he could not be sure. Except for the gnawing tension in his gut telling him someone was out there and closing in. They’d made no effort to conceal their horse tracks during the morning ride, so their sign was right out there for anybody to see.  
    Maybe they should have been more careful.
    They better be mindful from now on.
    The cowboy saw Fix catch him looking over his shoulder a few times, and they shared a glance that alerted the thin gunfighter in black there might be something on their ass and to be ready, but as usual they didn’t need words. All the small, spare gunfighter did was slightly caress the pearl pistol handle in his holster with his worn black glove to protect his hand from the scrape of the hammer when he fanned and fired in the quick draw. The four riders continued into the sun-blasted oblivion.  
    The day was getting mean hot, and their destination lay hours ahead. Lizards scampered on rocks. Somewhere far off the razor scree of a hawk echoed into infinity. Then just the lulling clop of their hooves, and a waft of wind in his ears.
    Bodie was in the rear, the giant Swede off in his own world, leaning back in his brown saddle, tree-stump legs relaxed, reins held loose in his cow-hoof hands, singing a loud song to himself in his gravelly, off-key voice. He grinned, bearing his cracked yellow teeth with sloppy affability, and laughed at some private joke in his granite boulder of a skull. He may be simple, Tucker felt, but he was so damn strong and there was a open-heartedness about him, so he didn’t see the need to tell the big one about the riders who may or may not be shadowing the four. There was nothing to talk about yet, and Bodie would just forget the minute he was distracted by something shiny. Tucker was sometimes surprised the happy idiot remembered his name.
    Ahead, the peasant girl led them along the barren trail, her black shiny close-cropped hair wafting in the wind, and her sweet floral scent drifted back to Tucker. For a few pleasant moments he just rode, closed his eyes, and breathed her in. This girl had sand. That she did. Again, he considered what it took for a young girl like her to recruit dangerous men like the three of them. She must have been very scared, but she’d done what she had to do. Where the hell were the men of her village? Goddamn Mexicans. Only one reason a simple girl like this would take the kind of risks she had. Whatever lay in wait for them at the town must be a hell of a lot scarier than they were. Tucker wanted to know the rest of the story and would ask her soon.
    A huge cloud passed across the sun, creating a mile-long shadow that moved slowly across the desert like a scythe, the great darkness passing over them. It shadowed their faces beneath their hat brims in a black curtain against the bright daylight, making them squint. They all experienced a sudden chill, and then it was gone, replaced by the heat of the day as the overhead cloud passed the sun. The wall of shade continued on its relentless trek across the landscape like the shadow of the devil catching souls.
    An antsy Tucker was getting tired of the ride. He just wanted to get there, to this town wherever it was, face up to whatever he was up against, do his killing and be done with it. The ride felt like an axe hanging over his head, the waiting worse than the battle. He knew he was a man of action because of this impatience and fierce nature. Waiting gave a man too much time to think and it wasn’t good thinking too much.
    “Hold up, boys.”
    For the third time on the last twenty miles Fix had found sign.
    Tucker and Bodie pulled up their horses with Pilar, as the skeletal gunfighter in black bent from his saddle studying the ground. “I savvy fifteen sets of hoof prints,” he said.
    “What does this mean?” Pilar