Blood Bond: Deadly Road to Yuma

Chapter 3

The narrow, twisting canyon in the Gila Mountains was choked with brush for much of its length, brush that could claw a man bloody if he wasn’t careful. Nobody would ride up here unless they had a good reason to.

Ed Callahan had believed that he had a good reason, the best reason of all—gold. He had a nose for the stuff, or so he had always told himself even though he’d never found very much of it in the twenty years he’d spent as a prospector and desert rat.

The hardships of those years had honed him down to little more than skin and bones. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyes were sunk deep in pits of gristle.

One of those eyes didn’t see too good anymore. Everything he saw through it looked filmy, like it had one of those thin scarves over it like the dancin’ gals in the big cities used to hide and reveal their fleshy charms at the same time.

But Ed could still see well enough to know that he was in a whole heap of trouble. He swallowed hard as he stared down the barrel of the gun that was no more than four inches from the tip of his nose.

“What are you doin’ up here, old man?” asked the rough-looking hombre who’d stepped out of the brush and pointed the gun at Ed. “You some sort o’ damn spy?”

Ed’s mouth had gone too dry for him to talk. He tried to work up some spit. After a couple of seconds, he managed to say, “N-no, sir. I ain’t no spy. I’m just doin’ a little prospectin’.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the supplies on the pack mule he’d been leading. “You can see for yourself. Just take a look at my outfit.”

The man squinted past him at the mule. “Yeah, that looks like the sort o’ shit a prospector’d have, all right. I never heard o’ anybody findin’ gold in these mountains, though.”

“I…I’m gonna be the first,” Ed declared. “Got me a hunch there’s a fine vein up here just waitin’ for me to find it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s too damn bad. You found more’n you bargained for, old man.” The hardcase stepped back and motioned with the Colt in his hand. “Come on. You’re goin’ with me.”

“Wh-where are we goin’?” Ed asked as he tightened his grip on the mule’s reins and started walking along the canyon.

“Never you mind. You’ll see in a minute.”

And so he did as they rounded a bend and Ed saw that the canyon widened out a little. There was a spring flowing out of the rocks on one side, and near it a crude corral made of ropes and poles cut from saplings. Tents were pitched here and there, and bedrolls were also spread out in the open.

A fire burned near the spring. Ed had thought he smelled wood smoke a few minutes earlier as he’d worked his way up the canyon, but then the smell had faded and he’d decided not to worry about it. Hadn’t been any ’Pache trouble around here for a while.

The men camping here weren’t Apaches, Ed saw as he looked around, although a couple of them appeared to be Mexicans. The rest were white, and every bit as ugly and rough-looking as the gent who’d brought him here at gunpoint.

Oh, shit, Ed thought. They were outlaws. He had stumbled right into the hideout of a bunch of owlhoots.

The man who pushed aside the entrance flap of one of the tents and came out into the fading, late afternoon light didn’t look like an outlaw, though. He wore a long black coat and a white shirt and a string tie. He was clean- shaven, with long, thick brown hair and a slightly lantern-jawed face. He smiled as he strode toward Ed.

“Welcome, brother,” he said. “What brings you here to our humble but temporary home?”

The gunman behind Ed prodded him in the back with the Colt. “Answer the rev’rend.’

Reverend? The fella did look a mite like a preacher, Ed thought.

“I’m, uh, prospectin’ for gold,” he said. “Didn’t mean to intrude—”

“Nonsense,” the preacher said. “One of my fellow strugglers in this world could never intrude. We’re glad to have you.”

Ed wanted to relax. The fella had a way of putting a man at ease. But it was hard to relax too much while he was still surrounded by gun-hung hombres who looked like they’d as soon fill him with lead as spit.

“Obliged for the hospitality,” Ed managed to say. “Name’s Ed Callahan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brother Ed. I’m Joshua Shade.”

Oh shit oh shit oh shit. The words roared through Ed’s brain, and it was all he could do not to yell them out loud.

He had heard of Joshua Shade. Everybody in this part of the territory had heard of the crazy owlhoot leader. Hell, probably everybody in the whole territory had heard of him. He and his men had been on a killing spree for months.

Shade was still smiling. He said, “I see you’ve heard of me, Brother Ed.”

Ed’s tongue felt as big and floppy and dry as a saddle blanket in his mouth. He struggled to say, “N-no, sorry, Mr. Shade, I n-never heard nothin’ about you.”

“Reverend Shade,” the man corrected gently.

“Sorry. I mean Rev’rend Shade. But I still d-don’t know who you are.”

Shade came closer, reached out, and put a big hand on Ed’s shoulder. “Are you a God-fearing man, Brother Ed?”

“Y-yeah,” Ed husked. “I like to think I am.”