Blood Moon

By Richard Dawes

The Tucson Kid escapes Mexico ahead of a gang of outlaws bent on revenge. He rides west into New Mexico and finds himself in the middle of a range war between a brutal rancher and a beautiful widow. As Tucson takes a stand in favor of the widow, he is caught in the cross-fire between the rancher’s hired killers and the Mexican bandits who have finally caught up with him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: May 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781612358604

Richard Dawes

Richard Dawes was born and raised in California and now resides in a small town in Texas. After a tour of duty in the Marine Corps, he spent fifteen years in management in the Moving and Storage, Computer and Credit Union industries. He began writing short stories as a boy, and has written several historical novels. A long time student of Native American traditions, he includes positive references to those traditions throughout the Tucson Kid series. Other sub-themes explored in the series are authentic masculinity, relationships and power — what are they and how do they manifest.

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Special Smashwords Edition

Blood Moon

A Tucson Kid Western

by Richard Dawes

Published by

Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.melange-books.com

Blood Moon, Copyright 2014 Richard Dawes

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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 person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should go to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-61235-860-4

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States of America.

Cover Design by Becca Barnes

BLOOD MOON

by Richard Dawes

The Tucson Kid escapes Mexico ahead of a gang of outlaws bent on revenge. He rides west into New Mexico and finds himself in the middle of a range war between a brutal rancher and a beautiful widow. As Tucson takes a stand in favor of the widow, he is caught in the cross-fire between the rancher’s hired killers and the Mexican bandits who have finally caught up with him.

Another one for my sister, Trina

Table of Contents

Blood Moon

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

Previews

Chapter One

The huge black stallion lunged up out of the water, landing on a rocky shelf over-hanging the northern bank of the Rio Grande. Reining him in, Tucson turned to look back over the desolate expanse of burning sands, mesquite and cactus stretching out behind him. It had taken him three days of hard riding through northern Mexico to reach the Rio Grande just west of the Texas line and into New Mexico. Here the Rio turned north for about a half mile then made a gentle sweep back and meandered on its way west. At the bend, the water had eaten away at the southern bank, creating a shallow, slow-moving section that was ideal for making a crossing. Deep ruts cut the southern bank from the countless wagons that had made the crossing, cut in again on the northern shore then swept up the incline to the town of River Bend on the crest. His hand resting on the stallion’s rump, Tucson’s grey eyes ceaselessly searched his back-trail, looking for any sign that he was being followed. Finally satisfied, he turned back, nudged the stallion with his heels, and rode on up the slope.

As he came abreast of the buildings at the edge of town, Tucson reined in again to look things over. Ramshackle structures made of wood, stone and mud lined both sides of a dusty, rutted street running from east to west. There wasn’t much going on at the moment. A Mexican was sweeping the boardwalk in front of a hotel down the street on the left; a few horses were hitched outside a building on the right with a sign on it reading, The Lucky Chance Saloon; and, further down, two dogs were squabbling over a bone in front of a dilapidated, barn-like building that looked like a livery stable. Nodding with satisfaction, Tucson decided that River Bend had everything he needed to rest up for the night. He had been heading for River Bend as he rode up through Mexico. The town had a reputation for being a place where a man on the run from the law could hole up for a while. The town marshal was said to be willing to look the other way for a price. Although Tucson wasn’t wanted in either the States or in Mexico, he was still looking for a place to rest where he wouldn’t have to answer any questions.

He nudged the stallion forward, keeping to the shade on the left side of the street. He hadn’t gone far when a door opened on the right and a big man with a gold star pinned to his chest stepped out onto the boardwalk. Noticing Tucson, he paused, leaned his bulk against a porch support, and watched him as he rode in. The marshal was over six feet tall, with a belly that was just beginning to hang down over the gun belt holding a .44 Smith and Wesson with bone grips. A broad-brimmed grey Stetson shaded pale blue eyes, a jutting nose that had once been powerful but was becoming fleshy, and a once rugged face that was blurring into a sagging jaw line. Looking him over, Tucson had the impression of a rocky crag being worn down by the cruel winds of disappointment and bitterness.

At a touch of the reins, the stallion crossed the street and came to a halt in front of the marshal. The two men stared at each other for a moment then Tucson nodded. Looks like you’re the law in River Bend, he observed in a deep, clear voice. Lifting his flat-crowned, broad-brimmed sombrero with one hand, he ran the fingers of the other through his straight black hair then replaced it. Nice quiet town, he added pleasantly.

That’s right—and that’s the way I aim to keep it, the marshal replied in a gravelly tone. My name’s Tom McLaughlin.

Although he kept his face impassive, Tucson couldn’t help a slight widening of his eyes when he heard the name. He knew of Tom McLaughlin. He had a reputation in Wyoming, Missouri, and down into Nevada as a tough, honest and courageous lawman. Tucson never would have expected him to end up as the marshal of River Bend. I’ve heard of you, he said quietly.

You have, huh? McLaughlin returned. Well, as long as we’re bein’ all friendly like, s’pose you tell me your name.

Tucson.

Eyes widening with alarm, McLaughlin took a quick step back while his right hand dropped to his gun-butt. I’ve heard of you too, he grated through clenched teeth. I should’ve recognized you right off, with that black stallion, that blued Colt .45 with rosewood grips, that black leather jacket cut short at the waist so it don’t get in the way o’ your draw. And your face! I heard tell it looks kind’a like a skull in a fight—and I can believe it.

Whoa, Marshal, hold up there! Tucson held up his hands. I’m not looking for any trouble.

McLaughlin relaxed slightly, but his hand remained on his gun. What’s the Tucson Kid doin’ in my town?

I’m just passing through, Tucson replied, his hands still in the air. All I want is to stable my horse and sleep in a bed tonight. I’ll be on my way tomorrow morning.

McLaughlin’s eyes shifted and took on a speculative expression. Taking his hand off his gun, he stepped forward again. Heard tell you broke jail down in Mexico; just beat a firin’ squad—any truth to that?

Tucson’s shoulders dropped slightly, but he kept his face blank. It was clear that the marshal was sniffing around for a pay-off. It was all a misunderstanding, he said. Reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper and extended it to McLaughlin between two fingers. Here, this’ll prove I’ve been cleared of all charges.

McLaughlin scanned the paper, sighed with disappointment, then refolded it and handed it back. "Rumor has it you got into some kind o’ war down there with a gang o’ bandidos—any truth to that?"

Just rumors... Tucson took the paper and returned it to his pocket. I’ve been three days on the trail coming up here.

McLaughlin’s mouth quirked knowingly. Them’d be three days o’ hard ridin’ from the look o’ your horse. His eyes kindled admiringly. That’s the biggest goddamned stallion I ever did see. He looks like he’s got plenty o' stayin’ power an’ speed.

Yep, Tucson agreed. He’s pulled me out of a few tight ones.

I’ll bet, McLaughlin chuckled. Well, he squinted up at Tucson, you say you’re lookin’ for a night’s rest for you and your horse?

That’s right. I’ll be on my way first thing in the morning.

McLaughlin thought for a moment then came to a decision. Hell, man. You don’t think I’d have the Tucson Kid come to my town then let him flop in that flea-bitten hotel, do you? No, goddamn it! You’re gonna be my guest for the night. I’ll get my woman to fix us a good meal, and I got a corral and plenty o’ feed and water for your stallion. Well, he smiled, how ‘bout it?

Tucson smiled back. I couldn’t refuse an invitation like that. Lead the way.

* * * *

McLaughlin opened the gate of the corral, stood aside as Tucson rode the stallion inside then closed it again. As he threw his leg over the horse’s rump and stepped down into the dirt, Tucson took in the scene. They were less than a quarter mile from the town. Off to the west, toward the end of the line of buildings, about where Tucson judged the livery stable to be, was a series of large holding pens; probably to hold rustled cattle before driving them down into Mexico. McLaughlin’s corral was just large enough to hold his two horses and the stallion comfortably. There was a shed with a trough for feed; bridles and saddles rested on racks and tools hung from the walls. Off to the side was another trough for water. To the north, a small stone building faced the corral, smoke rising from the chimney. Fat chickens scratched and pecked around the yard, a few goats wandered about, and a vegetable garden was just visible behind the house. It was a solid little spread that looked well cared for.

If you don’t mind, Tucson said, loosening the cinch strap, I’d like to clean up my horse before I do anything else.

Sure thing, McLaughlin replied. By the way, what do you call it?

Lifting the bridle from the stallion’s mouth, Tucson hung it over the saddle horn. I never got around to naming it.

Why not...?

Never felt the need. It comes when I whistle. That’s good enough for me.

McLaughlin laughed. There’s a bucket next to the water trough. We got our own spring, so you can use all the water you need. There’s hay in the shed. And, he pointed to a corner, plenty of oats in that barrel. As he turned toward the house, he added, I’ll have my woman kill one these chickens and get supper started.

Tucson filled the bucket with water, took a brush he found hanging on a nail, and began cleaning the mud caked over the stallion’s legs and lower belly. As he worked, he mulled over the impressions he had gotten since his arrival. He had been surprised and disappointed when McLaughlin told him his name. With his reputation, Tucson never would have connected him with what he had heard of the marshal of River Bend. That, plus what he had seen of McLaughlin that afternoon—his sagging belly and slack jaw-line—told Tucson that something had gone very wrong with Tom McLaughlin. Actually, though, McLaughlin was lucky he had lasted this long. Most men who lived by their guns died young, and McLaughlin looked to be in his late forties.

Tucson threw the dirty water out, rinsed the bucket and brush then set them aside. Taking a couple of burlap bags, he dried the stallion off. That finished, he got a curry brush out of the shed and worked the horse over, taking special care to comb the burrs and tangles out of its long mane and tail.

Tom McLaughlin wasn’t the only good marshal who had gone rogue, he thought. The constant danger for little pay did something to a man. At some point, it just didn’t seem worth risking one’s life for the piddling amount paid by town councils. A lot of lawmen ran operations on the side to make ends meet. Some ran whorehouses, some operated gambling concessions; his old friend, Wild Bill Hickok, had spent long hours each day playing poker—and some took bribes. Still, Tucson didn’t feel like judging McLaughlin. At his age, with a woman to care for, facing a dead end future, he would be a fool if he didn’t do something to guarantee his security.

Hanging the curry brush back on a nail, Tucson scooped plenty of oats into a feedbag and strapped it around the stallion’s neck, then pitched some hay into the manger. While the horse munched contentedly, Tucson went to the water trough, hung his sombrero on a corral post, then unlaced and removed his leather jacket. Unbuckling the shoulder rig for the Colt .32 he kept under his left arm, he set it aside, peeled off his white shirt, then picked up a broken piece of soap and began washing his face and torso.

Just then, the door to the house swung open and Tom McLaughlin came striding across the yard followed by a Mexican woman.

Rinsing the soap from his eyes, Tucson reached for another burlap bag and dried himself off as he watched them approach. Although no longer young, the woman must have been beautiful as a girl, because she was still handsome. A few strands of gray streaked the long black hair falling down her back to a thickening waist, and heavy breasts bounced beneath a pale blue blouse. Under a flowing black skirt her hips rolled sensually, and her step was still light.

Hey, Pardner, McLaughlin called out jovially. I want you to meet my woman. Then, catching sight of Tucson’s lean, muscled torso, he stopped and let out a low