Bret Sanders's Hawk 01: Hawk

By Bret Sanders

He’d been christened Webley Hammond Steele, but since the War Between the States he’d been known as Hawk, named for the relentless bird of prey, the killer with the midnight black wing, the lethal beak.
He was a brutal man who knew how to kill without pity. He came out of prison, escaping the hangman’s noose in return for helping the law get a renegade killer. Hate welded him into a savage hunter who always got his prey.
This hunt led him on the trail of a man he’d sworn to kill for years—the sadist who’d once branded him with a hot iron, then tortured and killed the woman he loved.
No lawman’s badge could keep him from the revenge he sought—or from the bloody carnage that followed in his wake!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Piccadilly
• Release date: Feb 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215209356

Book preview

Chapter One

HE FELT HIS chains in the cramped cell, knowing that only a miracle could change the direction of this night—the night slated to be his last on earth. He always had been adjusted to the fact that one day his life would end. But he had never thought it would end with a rope around his neck as he dropped from the gallows.

Thirty-one years ago he had been christened Webley Hammond Steele, but since the War between the States he had been known as Hawk, named for the relentless bird of prey, the killer with the midnight black wing, the lethal beak.

Hawk looked out the narrow barred window of the Kingdom jail, seeing the gibbet with its noose outlined against the midnight sky. Even now he refused to believe that he would never again see the stars and the yellow hint of moon on the horizon.

Beyond the gallows were a half-dozen campfires, kindled by those who had come from miles around to witness his execution. Kingdom was only a village, set on a mesa above Glory Canyon. It had been built there for defense when hostiles had fought the advancing whites.

Del Kane, his guard, lumbered to the cell door and peered at him through floor-to-ceiling bars. How’s it feel to have your wings clipped, Hawk? he drawled in a heavy voice.

Hawk swung his dark head to face the guard. The jet black eyes were spaced wide; the thin nostrils of his hawklike nose flared. Don’t sound so happy, Kane.

You shouldn’t get your back bowed. Hell, you’re goin’ to die. And not easy, either.

No death is easy.

Rupe could’ve made it easy.

Hawk bared his teeth, twisting his long and craggy face. He was an inch over six feet, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His Levi’s clung to his hips, beltless. They had even taken away his belt. He wore only a wool shirt, pants and boots. Because they considered him dangerous his wrists were manacled; a three-foot length of chain hung between them, the same security for his ankles. Another chain was padlocked once around his waist and once to an iron ring set in the stone wall of the cell. The chains clanked softly in the after-midnight stillness.

Rupe can claim my body, Hawk said coldly, but not my money.

Rupe Concord was the hangman.

Kane laughed, scratching himself, then straddled a chair. Hawk’s gaze brightened as he watched the broad-faced guard place a double-barreled shotgun on the stone floor beside the chair. Kane chewed a quill toothpick as he eyed the prisoner in the smoky light of a bracket lamp in the jail corridor.

All Rupe wanted was your money belt, Kane said. Should’ve give it to him.

So he could split with you. Hawk shook his head. I wouldn’t give you my sweat, Kane. He had six hundred dollars in a money belt which was now in the sheriff’s custody. This was the money Rupe had suggested Hawk will to him.

Better a quick end than chokin’ to death on that rope, Kane pointed out. Rupe could’ve fixed the drop and the rope so you’d crack your neck first off. But you won’t drop far enough, Hawk. Mebby it’s better this way. Kane waved a large arm toward a window. Folks out there come for some miles to see the show. Shame if it ended quick.

Hawk said nothing. He had been cornered after the killing of Mike Sentran, and it was Kane who had smashed the butt of a rifle against the back of his skull. When he’d regained consciousness and learned who had done him in, Hawk had spat in Kane’s face. Kane had gone out of his way to bait him during the brief trial and the seven-day interval between sentencing and execution. At last the law had overtaken Hawk. The charges against him had mounted each year he’d remained free. The man he had killed—Sentran—had a price on his head, but that made little impression on the jury. Hawk was more infamous than Sentran, and putting him to death, his peers believed, would rid the territory of one more blight.

Rupe Concord shuffled along the corridor from the front of the jail, his figure throwing a hunched shadow against the wall. He was saturnine, dressed in black, fitting attire for either of his two occupations—undertaker and hangman.

Concord leaned casually against the wall by the cell. Gettin’ ready for the big day. I’m kinda anxious to hear Hawk’s good-bye speech.

Looks like it’ll be a fair day tomorrow, Kane commented. And I’m glad. Folks who come so far can have a picnic.

Shame if it rained, Concord continued in his mocking tone. Hawk won’t be wearing anything but a shirt. He might catch cold.

Kane snickered. You could hold an umbrella over his head, Rupe.

You’ll be the one to do that, Kane. I’ll be working the lever that hangs him.

The sadistic interchange was interrupted by the sound of steps in the corridor. A man with a cultured voice spoke. Do you two gentlemen mind going to the jail office?

Kane sprang up from his chair, shotgun in hand as he peered down the shadowed hallway. Who the hell are you?

And how’d you get in here, anyway? Rupe Concord added, reaching for a pistol under his black coat.

Sheriff gave me a key. The man stepped forward into the full flow of the bracket lamp.

Adam Granfield. Kane’s voice held respect. He lowered the shotgun. If you want to talk to the prisoner, you let me an’ Rupe stay.

Granfield was firm. Gentlemen, I’d be obliged if you leave.

Hawk’s a tricky bastard, beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Granfield. Even chained up like he is I wouldn’t trust him.

"Do you mind, gentlemen?" Granfield, in gray suit, thick brown mustache nearly hiding firm lips, gestured toward the jail office. His tone was authoritative.

Rupe Concord removed his hand from the weapon under the black coat. Muttering, the two men edged along the corridor and closed the door to the jail office.

Just a minute, Hawk, Granfield said. I want to make sure the door is firmly shut.

Hawk heard him go to the door, then return. He vaguely recalled having seen the man in the courtroom during the brief trial for his life.

I’m here as spokesman for a group of citizens, Granfield said. His voice was deep, barely a whisper. Can you hear me all right?

Hawk gave him a hard grin. I can’t get any closer than this because of the chain. Unless you want to step inside and stand close to me. Hawk’s laughter was mocking. And I don’t figure you’ll want to risk that.

I had hoped you might be in a fairly subdued mood.

I’d hardly be subdued after having those two carrion stick their splinters under my skin.

Unfortunately, in Rupe Concord’s case we don’t have much choice. Few men relish the job of hanging other human beings as he seems to. As for Kane— Granfield dismissed the guard as if the man was unworthy of comment. Granfield gripped the bars of the cell door. I’m here to put a proposition to you.

Hawk studied the man’s face. A little late for propositions.

Would you bargain for your life?

My life in exchange for what? Hawk spat the last word in derision.

A woman has been abducted. If you agree to find her, your life will be spared.

What kind of a woman? Hawk demanded suspiciously.

A bride. A young girl, abducted on her wedding night.

With his manacled hands Hawk lifted the heavy chain that held him to the wall ring and let the links play through his fingers as though they were prayer beads. Who’s the bridegroom? The dark eyes lifted to Granfield’s tense face.

A very prominent man, Granfield replied hesitantly.

You?

No. A man old enough to be her father— Granfield broke off, muttered under his breath as if cursing himself. Never mind that. It’s a very delicate political situation, if you must know.

I bring this woman back to her husband and I go free?

Exactly.

Hawk’s lip curled. I don’t know what your game is, Granfield, but it’s a damn poor one.

You want to die?

Not particularly.

But you don’t seem to give a damn. Granfield reddened.

Let me speak, Granfield.

Go ahead, speak.

You come here the night before I’m to die. You tell me about a kidnapped woman. If I find her I go free. Hawk shook his head; the untrimmed ends of his thick black hair swung across his shirt collar. You know damned well if I was lucky enough to find this girl, you and your friends would be right behind me. You’d put a bullet in my head or drag me back here to hang anyway!

I’d give you my word. And the word of respectable people with the highest integrity.

I haven’t encountered much integrity around here, Hawk said, his tone biting.

I can understand your bitterness, Granfield sighed. I’ve heard stories of your war experiences. Some true, perhaps, some apocryphal. I know that the woman you intended to marry died horribly because of a traitorous act on the part of someone you trusted.

Hawk turned his back, the chains clanking, and stared out the window. His shoulders ached from tension. From out on the flats came the sound of fiddle music, laughter, a drunken shout. Out there in the firelight, near the wagons that had brought them here, many of these respectable citizens of the territory were enjoying a prelude to death. His death. And on this grim night the sounds of revelry were all the more macabre with Granfield’s reopening old wounds from the war.

Granfield was saying, I know that you were branded, Hawk. Branded with a hot iron. Branded like a steer. Even worse. Three times, three letters. With a red-hot nail, so I’ve heard. Letters on your abdomen spelling—

Shut your goddamned mouth, Granfield! Hawk whirled, the chains rattling about his legs. Rupe and friend have their own crude brand of verbal torture. Yours is more subtle.

I’m only trying—

To get my hopes up, then laugh! Hawk glared. Get out of here, Granfield!

Granfield exhaled a long-held breath. They say that until the last minute you will plan for escape. This time the plans are useless. They won’t work. Granfield waited, hoping Hawk would speak. Hawk, you’re a man of intelligence. I wouldn’t entrust this job to one of lesser ability.

Hire an army to go rescue the bride. As a matter of fact, what’s the matter with U.S. Cavalry?

This business has to be handled with great secrecy. We can’t alert the authorities.

I don’t believe you.

Granfield’s mouth tightened under the thick brown mustache. I should turn my back on you.

You will anyway.

Why can’t I reason with you? Granfield’s face in the faint lamplight showed strain.

I’ll tell you why. When I was arrested, I was kicked and spat on. They had me trussed up like they plan to do in the morning when they hang me. I was completely helpless. They laughed. They thought I would break down. It’s what they wanted. At the trial I wouldn’t even give my name. I’ve defied them all the way. They want to see tears and repentance tomorrow when Rupe draws the noose to my Adam’s apple. No, you’re wasting breath, Granfield.

I know your real name. I know your army record. At least what the War Department will release. You’ve been badly treated, I know. And maybe half the crimes laid to you were committed by others. But we’re willing to forget your past if you’ll help us.

You want me to agree, to feel hope. And then tomorrow when I’m on the gallows I’ll ask you to hold good to your promise. And in the crowd you and your friends will laugh when Rupe reaches for the lever and drops me. Hell with you, Granfield. Hawk spoke softly, bitterly.

I thought a man condemned to death would seize any straws offered him. Hawk, I’ve asked for your help. I’m asking again. In all sincerity.

Then why’d you let me stand trial? Why not bargain when I was arrested?

The girl was kidnapped only three nights ago.

Hawk stared through the bars at the man. I don’t trust you. He spat the words like a curse.

Very well, I’ll be back. But there is a point of no return in this, Hawk. Once the noose is around your neck and the trap drops out from under you, there’s no further discussion possible.

Granfield walked to the door, where Kane, his dignity bruised, asked, What was you an’ him talkin’ about for so long?

Nothing that concerns you, Kane. And the older man brushed past the guard into the jail office. A street door opened and slammed.

Kane cursed under his breath at Granfield, then strode to Hawk’s cell, his watery eyes showing hatred and frustration at Granfield’s abuse of his station. He leaned against Hawk’s cell, and Hawk sensed a sadistic vengeance in the guard’s steady glare.

Rupe! Kane yelled without letting his eyes off the prisoner. Rupe!

Yeah? The hangman stuck his head through the doorway.

"Go down to the stable. Tell Sully I want to