Trail's End

By Leigh Dovey

A bloody, botched bank robbery leaves Tom, Logan and the other survivors of Marlon Lee's gang running for their lives from legendary bounty hunter Cross.

Desperate to escape him, they cut far north into a remote, snowbound territory and find survivors of a wagon train attacked by an Indian war party. 

 

Tom's Comanche friend Billy warns them the area is known to Indians as the home of a fierce, but little seen tribe, that hunt everything at this time of year, including men. The group push on north regardless, more afraid of Cross than of Billy's superstitions. The snows come and the wagon train is attacked that night by an unseen tribe. 

 

The group journey on, hoping to escape the tribe's hunting grounds before nightfall. They prepare to defend the camp that night, but are ambushed during a snowstorm. Tom and Marlon witness one of their group being killed by a figure more beast than man. 

 

The next day Cross offers a temporary truce and leads them to a cavalry outpost in a nearby forest. But the fort is abandoned and bears the bloody marks of a terrible battle. Cross finds the commanding officer's diary and reads of how the soldiers tried to repel a terrible tribe of creatures that hunt at night. As night falls, Tom, Cross and the other survivors prepare to make a final stand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leigh Dovey
• Release date: Feb 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223223108

Leigh Dovey

Leigh Dovey is the author of books The Fallow Field and Bad Code, and screenwriter of films Haven, Served Cold and The Fallow Field. He served in the Royal Air Force, worked as a ranch hand in Australia, as a security guard in Canada, and in various roles in the television industry in the UK. He once played an unlikely looking Spanish general in a film about The Spanish Armarda.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sharp winds howled and cut across the empty, desolate Montana plains. A campfire crackled against the darkness in the vast nothingness. Three grizzled hunters in buckskins sat around the fire and braced themselves against the cold with bitter coffee. Buck Howard, a weathered old bobcat of a plainsman, leaned forwards, so that the flames caught a mischievous glint in his eyes.

So, what in the Sam Hill are you fellas doing this far north?

The two younger hunters, Gray and Charlie, shared a shrug and the same look of mild contempt for the old man.

Same as you I guess, said Gray. Hunting.

Buck grunted a dismissive laugh.

There ain’t nothing up here worth the lead in your pop gun, he said.

A slight, playful smile creased his craggy, bristled features.

You do know these here parts are rightly damned, don’t you?

Gray and Charlie swapped looks again.

Of course, I wouldn’t be up here myself, if I hadn’t run into them damn Sioux. They was running below me all the way from Cattlecrow. I couldn’t risk trying to cut across ‘em, they’re too smart for that. Those deuces forced me all the way up here, into hell itself.

Buck took another sip of coffee and cracked a wry smirk. Yup, he had these greenhorns on the hook now.

See, they don’t like it up here, he continued. None of them Indians do.

Gray and Charlie hesitated, before Gray eventually sighed and took the bait.

Come on then old man, said Gray. I can see you’re just itching to lay some of that campfire bullshit on us. Well, go ahead. We’re game.

Buck’s expression darkened. He suddenly appeared colder, his eyes blacker, almost demonic against the flickering light of the fire.

Folks say this territory is bad, he said. As bad as it gets. They say it’s the hunting ground of the fiercest tribe of all. Each one of them tall as trees, and quicker than lightning.

A strong gust of wind screamed in across the plains and whistled through the camp, fanning the campfire’s flames. Buck looked down at the coffee grinds in his tin cup and flicked them into the fire where they crackled and burned.

Gray and Charlie waited for the old man to continue.

They say you never even see ‘em coming.

Buck paused and eyed the two men. Suddenly he lunged forwards and took a bite out of the night air, gnashing his tobacco-stained teeth together.

Next thing you know, they’re picking you out of their teeth all winter.

Charlie’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

Cannibals? he said.

Buck looked him sternly in the eye.

I guess it ain’t a cannibal if it ain’t a man that’s eating you. Not if it’s something older, darker. Not if it’s something worse.

Shit, said Charlie. He began rummaging around in his pack, until he slid out his Winchester rifle and cocked it.

Bullshit more like, said Gray. You’re having us on old man.

Maybe, said Buck. It ain’t nothing but whispers out here on the plains. At least I reckon no white man’s ever got a good look at them and lived to talk about it.

Like I said, bullshit.

Buck could see that Charlie felt less sure. The young hunter continued to scan the darkness behind them with his rifle raised and ready.

Put that down before you hurt somebody, said Gray.

Buck chuckled to himself.

Well, one thing’s for sure, he said. They ain’t breeding plainsmen like they used to. Go ahead son, put it down. I reckon we’ll be all right.

What? So you did make it up? said Charlie.

Buck slowly shook his head then smiled.

Nope, he said. No, the fact is, if they’re there, you never see ‘em. The Indians reckon the only time you might catch sight of these things is when they come out to hunt after the first snows fall. They say they run around killing pretty much anything and everything they can find, so as they can fatten themselves up for the winter. Like some kind of feeding frenzy. No, that’s when it’s dangerous to be up here.

Buck then thought hard, the tired cogs in his old head straining for details.

That, and in early spring, when they’re winter-lean and real hungry again, that’s when you need to make yourself scarce.

Buck looked up at the star-laden night sky above them and then back at his two fellow hunters.

I’d say we’ve got a few more weeks before it snows.

Buck winked at Charlie.

The younger man sighed with relief, letting out a long-held breath, and finally lowered his weapon.

Then Buck’s grave expression returned.

But mark my words, come first light, I’ll be heading back down south, tout suite. Yup, heading south and staying south. And I reckon you two boys should do the same. There ain’t nothing up here for you but the worst kind of trouble.

Satisfied with his performance, Buck nodded a good night to the two worried hunters and wriggled down under his blanket to sleep.

Gray and Charlie stared at each other for a long time afterwards.

Charlie’s urgent gaze implored Gray to take the old man’s advice and turn south.

Eventually Gray sighed in resignation and rolled his eyes. He held his hands up in defeat and nodded OK to his friend. The matter resolved, the two men sank beneath their blankets and settled down to sleep too.

*

Winds tore across the dark and barren landscape, as the three hunters did their best to huddle down against the ground. Then, out of the blackness above, something moved.

A snowflake.

The snowflake slowly spiraled down from the heavens and landed silently on Charlie’s cheek, making him twitch. More flakes of snow followed, gently swirling and dancing their way to earth out of the night sky.

The first snows of winter.

Another snowflake tickled Charlie’s brow, making his eyes snap open. Above, a flurry of snowflakes floated down towards him out of the darkness. Charlie quickly looked across at his friend. Gray was awake now and staring up at the falling snow too. Both men were frozen to the spot.

Buck grunted in his sleep and rubbed snowflakes away from his face. More landed in their place. It was coming down thick and fast. He sat up and opened his mouth to curse someone, but then stopped and stared at the snow sprinkling down over the three hunters.

Like salt on bacon.

Aww hell, Buck whispered to himself.

The old man’s mare brayed where it was tethered some way off behind him and shivered against the cold.

She sounded spooked too.

Buck slowly rose to a crouching position and carefully pulled out his Colt revolver. Both Gray and Charlie watched him closely, their eyes now filled with uncertainty. Buck squinted and stared out through the snowfall, deep into the blackness beyond.

A loud roar rose up over the howling wind.

Buck might have mistaken the roar for that of a grizzly, were it not so cruel, so deliberate. No, this was something else. A call honed to terrify its prey.

His wide eyes continued to scan the darkness ahead. Now they were filled with fear too.

Another roar came.

This time louder and close.

Chapter 2

A dark, foreboding sky covered the sprawling cow town of Wichita. Main Street cut a wide avenue of flattened dirt through its center, edged with saloons, hotels, stores and brothels, all lined up to milk the passing cowhands of every last drop of their hard-earned cash. But the normally bustling thoroughfare was empty today. Only distant, unseen gunfire and whooping and hollering would tell you the town was inhabited.

Outside the sheriff’s office, a wiry, aging gunfighter sat on the porch eyeing the deserted street. Cross leaned his chair back against the wall and took his hat off to reveal close-cropped gray hair that complimented his black threads. He retrieved his tobacco pouch from the inside of his hat and nonchalantly rolled a smoke. A middle-aged, but solid-looking sheriff emerged from the office behind. Sheriff Martin Lane was followed by an older, smartly dressed man in spectacles, Mayor Holbrook, and two younger men. Cross knew Lane well and he’d dealt with Holbrook before. He didn’t know the two greenhorns, but was sure they were Lane’s deputies, and recent recruits by the look of it. More meat for the grinder in a town like this, he thought.

Sheriff Lane stood next to Cross, mulling something over. He was clearly anxious. The deputies watched him closely. The mayor was agitated too. The distant sounds of shooting and cheering could be heard from down the far end of the street again. Sheriff Lane looked towards it and then wiped sweat away from his brow with a handkerchief. He reluctantly turned to Cross, but hesitated before speaking.

So, how about it Cross? he said. Are you going to help?

Cross eyed the sheriff lazily, then pointed to one of the many wanted posters covering the wall behind him. The chosen poster showed the sketched features of a thick-set, savage-looking criminal.

Beneath the picture read:

BROCK THE BEAST EVANS.

$100 REWARD

––––––––

Cross looked Lane in the eye and shook his head slowly.

Damn your eyes Cross, he said.

A smile played on Cross’s lips as he lit his cigarette.

The mayor hurriedly stepped between the two men and frowned at Lane.

Come on Lane, said Holbrook. What’s it going to be?

Lane took his hat off and wiped more sweat from his red face and brow, as he tried to think. Cross watched the man closely, genuinely curious about what he’d decide to do. Cross had seen Lane go to work several times before and knew he could throw iron, but this was different, and Lane knew it. Lane eventually let out a deep sigh, replaced his hat and nodded to his two deputies.

Alright, Lane said to