The Black Horse eBooks - exclusive preview 1

Black Horse westerns have provided The Tained Archive with the blurb and first five pages of each of the titles that make up the Black Horse eBook Bundle 1. This information was originally supposed to be a part of Wild West eMonday but the holiday period got in the way, however we are delighted to finally present this material.

The eBook bundle will be on sale very soon and we hope this taster gets you all in the mood.

Keep an eye on the Archive for details of when you can buy the eBook bundle.

Today on The Archive we are pleased to present an exclusive peek at each of the titles in the bundle.

First up we have Land of the Lost by Dean Edwards.

Land of the Lost by Dean Edwards

Exclusive preview

Young drifter Hal Harper rides into the remote town of

Senora when he finds himself looking down the barrels of the

law. What Harper does not realize is that the ruthless outlaw

Tate Talbot and his gang have managed to get themselves

elected as sheriff and deputies. Talbot has discovered that

there is a wanted poster on his own head worth a small

fortune so he has the ingenious idea of collecting his own

bounty by killing the innocent Harper and claiming the

drifter is the outlaw known as Diamond Bob Casey.

Harper manages to escape to the remote uncharted desert

south of Senora but can he survive in the Land of the Lost?

PROLOGUE

There was little else but sand, sagebrush and

cactus on the land just south of Fort Myers. It had

been deemed suitable for an Indian reservation by

faceless people more than 1,000 miles away. In

truth, there were other reservations even worse.

Had it been intended for the more peaceful tribes

it would have worked. But someone had not

known that Apaches were not to be regarded as

peaceful Indians. They were a proud nation who

had seen their once vast kingdom taken from

them and were expected to accept the theft as

progress. The older Apaches did just that. They

had lost their stomach for fighting. They had lost

too many of their young braves. Now they were

reduced to little better than livestock, to be kept

within the confines of the reservation in the same

way as farmers herded their cattle on the range.

The promise of regular supplies of food might

have convinced even the younger Apaches but

corruption was rife in the dealings between the

distant Eastern government and those who were

meant to ration out the provisions.

Within a matter of only months the supplies

started to arrive either late or not at all. The government

had paid for the food and other basic provisions

but the men in charge of distributing these to

the Apaches could not resist the huge profits to be

made by selling them on to settlers, or anyone else

for that matter. It all boiled down to money and

greed.

Soon the younger Apache braves with hot blood

still in their veins started to talk about escaping

from their enforced confinement.

So it was the night of 18 July.

The sun had gone down at around eight and a

large moon hung over the vast wasteland of sand.

Twenty of the young warriors who had already

proved their manhood before being brought like

mustangs to this desolate land gathered in an

arranged meeting. They had already worked out

what they were going to do. Now they had to make

their plans reality.

Although not the oldest of the braves, one of

them acted as though he had lived twice as long as

he actually had. His was an old head on young

shoulders. He had no equal with either a knife or a

gun. Yet all their weapons had been taken from

them when they had been herded into the barren

land.

Nazimo knew that it was pointless simply escaping.

For it to work they required rifles and ammunition

to survive and fight off those who would be

sent to bring them back.

Apaches were survivors.

They could also fight.

Since the first outsiders had encountered them

they had become known as a nation which seemed

to be able to fight better than almost all other

North American tribes. Apaches had a ferocity like

the land in which they lived. It was said that the

Devil himself had created this place. For hundreds

of miles in almost every direction it was as if the sun

was as hot as Hell itself.

Little wonder that Apaches knew how to fight. It

was defiance which had allowed them to survive at

all. Few other men who ventured into their land

managed the feat.

Nazimo led the nineteen braves away from the

rest of the small settlement along the desert canyon.

All they had was their courage to defend them. But

they knew that the trading post and the fort beyond

had plenty of rifles.

Both were situated at the mouth of the canyon.

The young men with paint on their faces and

torsos led their ponies slowly towards the first of

their objectives. Nazimo had been watching and

listening to those who worked and traded in the

trading-post building. He had sat motionless on the

wooden boardwalk for over a week, absorbing every

word, watching every transaction. None of those

inside the long wooden building had any idea that

this was one Apache who actually understood their

language.

The moonlight was against them but Nazimo

refused to allow it to change his well-conceived

plans. The braves moved across the sand until they

reached the very mouth of the canyon. A barbedwire

fence had been erected across the fifty feet of

expanse between two rockfaces. It was always locked

at night and two cavalrymen were meant to guard it.

Yet for months the confined Apaches had not

even tried to escape. They had remained quietly in

the place that had been designated to them.

Nazimo had noticed that for the previous week the

soldiers who were meant to be sentries had stayed

inside the long wooden building instead. Through

the open windows he had seen them and the men

who worked at the trading post playing cards and

drinking throughout the long cool nights.

Nazimo reached the barbed-wire gates first. A

hefty brass padlock hung on a sturdy chain

between the two gates. Yet for all the lock-andchain’s

strength the fence itself was made of weathered

lumber poles. The barbed wire was loosely

tacked to the uprights.

Nazimo tossed his rope rein to one of his followers

and then placed a hand on both sides of the lock

and chain. As quietly as he could the Apache

warrior pushed and pulled the tall fence gates. His

strong hands gripped the poles as he moved further

forward and then backward. He knew that the fence

posts would eventually give.

He was right.

On the third push the gatepost in his left hand

snapped like kindling. The heavy chain fell. Nazimo

opened the gates, then signalled his followers.

They moved as all Apaches moved: silently and

fast. Even the unshod ponies knew how to be as

quiet as their masters. Nazimo waved half his braves

to one side of the trading post. They held on to the

reins of all the ponies as Nazimo himself led the

others to the open window.

Cigar smoke drifted out into the evening air.

Nazimo knew that none of his braves was armed.

They would have to enter swiftly through the

window one after another and somehow manage to

overcome the men inside. They would have to kill

or be killed. Then, if they achieved their mission

without any of the men or soldiers firing a weapon

at them, they would have to steal as many rifles,

guns and ammunition as they could. Nazimo knew

that it was vital that no shots were fired if the fort

was not to be alerted.

NEXT MCGUIRE, MANHUNTER BY SCOTT CONNER