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  When the riders of the Bar 10 run up against an escaped prisoner and his ruthless gang, they find themselves in deep trouble. Bret Jarvis and his henchmen are heading to Mexico when they learn that the Circle J ranch have returned from a profitable cattle drive and are heavy with loot, making them a sitting target for a raid. But Gene Adams and his Bar 10 cowboys are soon in hot pursuit and all they need to do is stop the outlaws before they reach the border ...

  BAR 10 11: SPURS OF THE BAR 10

  By Boyd Cassidy

  First published by Robert Hale Limited in 2013 under the title The Hot Spurs

  Copyright © 2013, 2021 by Boyd Cassidy

  First Electronic Edition: August 2021

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  Dedicated to all those who love westerns.

  Chapter One

  There was a low sun which was getting lower with every beat of the eleven riders black hearts as they sat amid the rocks to either side of the solitary route in and out of the ancient adobe prison. Los Angelo had stood since the first Spanish missionaries had built it as a place of worship. A place where they thought they might be able to tame the natives. It had not worked and some said its high walls were stained with the blood which had been spilled there. The array of buildings had survived the ravages of the Texas wilderness for more than a century until it had been turned into a temporary prison. That had been the Texas Rangers first mistake. The second had been to send the notorious gang leader Cole Logan there and think its walls could hold him.

  Darkness came swiftly as the sun finally disappeared behind the mountains. Logan’s gang were well trained and knew when and where to strike. Knew when their target was at its weakest and most vulnerable.

  Their leader had taught them well. Each and every one of them was as merciless as Logan himself. They took no prisoners and left no witnesses.

  The bodies of the four prison guards who had set out earlier that day for provisions still lay where they had fallen amid their horses and pack mules deep in the maze of gigantic boulders. Death had come quickly and silently.

  Those who remained in the prison were oblivious to what had occurred less than a quarter mile from the prisons high adobe walls and solid gates. Now reduced to a mere five men including the warden they had no idea of what was about to occur as the moonless night grew ever darker.

  Two guards patrolled the walls to either side of the gates and looked down at the courtyard where torches lit up the sand and the cells which faced the expanse of sand. Two hundred of the most dangerous criminals in the state were crammed into a dozen putrid cells which were exposed to the elements. The guards carbines were always aimed at the cells and the prisoners who clung to their bars.

  That was their third mistake.

  For if they had turned their rifles to face the blackness beyond the prisons walls they might have had a chance of picking off some of the eleven horsemen as they silently approached the remote Los Angelo. Yet as with all men who are charged with guarding prisoners they consider training their weaponry on unarmed creatures. They never consider that the real danger lies not in those who are already locked up but in those who have yet to be caught and brought to justice. The true danger is the deadly well-armed outlaws who are still free. Free to shoot back.

  Rem Barker had long been Cole Logan’s top gun. He alone amongst the eleven members of the infamous gang knew exactly what his leader wanted and why he wanted it. Even before the Rangers had transported Logan to the remote prison set on the eastern fringes of the Lone Star state Barker had known if he and the other members of the deadly gang ever expected to successfully rob another bank they would have to free their leader.

  Cole Logan might have been one of the most merciless men ever to have lived but he had made each and every one of them wealthy. He had a genius when it came to robbing banks. Without him Barker knew they were all doomed. An army without its general was nothing.

  The riders held their horses on short rein as they allowed them to canter toward the high adobe walls. Each had his own job to do. Each would do it expertly.

  The soft sand muffled the sound of their hoofs as their mounts gathered pace and closed in on their objective. Barker turned to the closest riders to either side of him and gave a silent signal. Both riders pulled their cutting ropes free and started to swing them above their heads. Barker himself reached the gates first and drew rein. He then reached back to his saddle bags and pulled a half dozen sticks of dynamite free. They were tied together with a short two minute fuse protruding from the center of the lethal bundle.

  Apart from Barker and the two rope men the rest of the riders rode to the end of the front wall as Barker scratched a match with his thumbnail and lit the fuse. He then dropped the explosives at the foot of the large gates and turned his mount. Barker rode passed the two outlaws with the swinging ropes in their hands.

  ‘Now!’ He ordered.

  The horsemen swung their ropes and then released the wide loops up into the air. Each lasso went around the guards necks far above them and then jerked tight. Faster than the blink of an eye the outlaws wrapped the end of their ropes around their saddle horns and spurred. Before either of the prison guards could utter a word they were suddenly hauled over the edge of the wall. They fell backwards and came crashing down to the sand. The sound of their necks breaking rang out. Their limp bodies were then dragged to where Barker and the eight other gang members waited.

  When the pair of riders reached Barker and their cohorts they released their ropes. The guard’s broken bodies lay mangled.

  ‘Wait for it.’ Rem Barker said watching the solitary entrance of the prison.

  The massive explosion turned the solid gates into a million splinters. The dust had barely cleared when the eleven horsemen galloped into the prison courtyard with guns drawn.

  The warden and the remaining prison guards stood no chance as they emerged from their quarters into the torch light of the courtyard.

  Blazing six-shooters spewed their fury across the torch lit courtyard. The warden raised his rifle and was brutally punched off his feet by a salvo of outlaw lead which came from half of the horsemen. No sooner had the large man hit the sand when what remained of his guards found themselves cut to ribbons by even more rifle power. Each of them crashed into the ground like ragdolls. Not one shot had been returned by any of the men charged with guarding the remote prison.

  Barker raised his gun and signaled to his followers that their brief battle was over. The horsemen hauled rein and sat astride their mounts watching Barker as he holstered his smoking .45.

  ‘Find Cole.’ Barker ordered as scores of desperate prisoners screamed out from their cells at the deadly intruders. smoldering cinders floated down over the heavily armed horsemen. It was raining fire.

  ‘Rem.’ Cole Logan’s voice bellowed out from one of the overcrowded cells. ‘I’m over here, Rem. Get me out of here.’

  Barker swung his mount around. His eyes narrowed and peered through the choking dust. Then he saw their leader clinging to the bars of a cell flanked by a score of other prisoners. He rode up to the cell and aimed his .45 at the lock. He squeezed its trigger. A deafening blast spewed from the barrel of the Colt. The large iron lock shattered into fragments. Along with Logan the other caged prisoners pushed the barred door open and ran out into the courtyard.

  Logan ran out to his men. The other prisoners followed.

  Barker lowered his left hand, caught hold of his leaders arm and dragged Logan off the ground. He swung Logan up behind him. The older outlaw sat behind the saddle cantle and hung on as Barker steadied his mount.

  ‘What’ll we do with these other prisoners, Cole?’ Barker asked the man behind him.

  With cold merciless eyes Cole Logan stared at the men he had shared a cell with. They were frantically trying to climb up behind the other mounted outlaws. That was not part of Logan’s plan.

  ‘Kill them.’ Logan snarled into Barker’s ear. ‘Kill the whole stinking bunch of them.’

  Chapter Two

  The rolling hillside was covered in a blanket of blue bonnet flowers which stretched for as far as the eye could see. The tall figure of the silver haired rancher stood silently amid them and held his black ten gallon hat in his rugged gloved hands as though in silent prayer. He had not moved in more than an hour apart from the occasional turn of his head as he studied the tranquil scenery which surrounded him. This was a sacred place to Gene Lon Adams. A place where the dead rested beneath a canopy of a million blue flowers. The place where his beloved sweetheart had been laid to rest so very long before. Over the years which had followed that tragic event he had buried many of his loyal cowboys beneath the blue bonnets if they had not had kinfolk to claim their broken bodies.

  Far below the hillside his chestnut mare patiently waited as she had done countless times before. She would not mo ve or stray until the rancher finished his silent ritual and return to her. It was as if the handsome horse could actually read her masters mind. There was no hurry in either the man nor the beast. Some things required time.

  Adams always came to this remote part of the Bar 10 ranch when he was troubled or when like now was about to set out on a cattle drive. Unlike her master the horse heard the two horsemen approaching and turned her head to watch the familiar cowboys as they rode up to her.

  Johnny Puma reined in and leapt from his saddle. He held on to the long leathers of his pinto pony and waited for the elderly Tomahawk to reach him. The older rider drew back and then carefully dismounted beside the youngster and gave a knowing nod.

  ‘I told ya we’d find him here.’ Tomahawk said.

  ‘Reckon you did.’ Johnny admitted. ‘I figured as much myself. I just never said it.’

  ‘Hold on a dang minute there, boy.’ Tomahawk screwed up his wrinkled features and moved to the smiling Johnny. His beard jutted at the young cowboy as though pointing. ‘You wanted to go to town. You said Gene would be there not here as I recall.’

  Johnny grinned. ‘I was thinking of you, old timer. I was thinking if we went to town you could go looking for Gene in one of the saloons. You could have had a beer or two.’

  The bushy eyebrows of the seasoned old cowboy rose. ‘Why didn’t ya say that before, ya young whippersnapper? I am a leetle bit thirsty now I thinks about it.’

  Johnny touched the arm of his far older friend and then pointed at the rancher. Adams remained like a statue set in the middle of the knee high blue bonnets.

  ‘Gene sure is quiet, Tomahawk. How come?’

  ‘He always is when he comes here.’ Tomahawk sighed heavily and shook his head sadly. ‘He’s thinking on all the cowboys we buried here over the years. He’s also thinking about his old sweetheart.’

  Johnny looked down at the skinny figure. ‘Gene had himself a sweetheart?’

  ‘Yep.’ Tomahawk nodded and then thoughtfully smiled at his younger companion. ‘Prettiest thing ya ever set eyes upon, Johnny. She was the love of his life.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘Injuns.’ Tomahawk answered. ‘They didn’t cotton to folks invading their land. We was scouting for a wagon train and when we was off to the north looking for water for the oxen and horses the train was attacked. Killed them all.’

  Johnny rubbed his neck. ‘Killed them all? How many folks were in the wagon train?’

  ‘Too many, boy.’ Tomahawk looked at the ground. ‘Way too many. We buried them all here. That’s why Gene stayed here and we set up the ranch. She’s buried somewhere around here. Gene knows where he buried her. She sure was pretty, Johnny.’

  Johnny exhaled. ‘What was her name?’

  Tomahawk looked into the face of the younger man. ‘Amy.’

  The name had no sooner left the lips of the old timer when Gene turned and started to walk down the slope toward them. The morning sun rested on his wide unbending shoulders. As he approached he placed his wide brimmed hat on his head of silver hair and tightened its drawstring. He did not look at either of them as he navigated a course through the countless blue flowers. It was as if he did not want to step on any of them.

  ‘Thought we’d find ya here, Gene boy.’ Tomahawk grinned as the tall man reached them and his horse.

  ‘Why you boys looking for me?’ Adams asked as he took the reins of his mount. ‘Something happened?’

  Both men looked sheepish. Neither answered.

  Adams held on to his saddle horn, poked a boot in a stirrup and then mounted his faithful horse. He sat looking at them.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing happened, Gene.’ Johnny bluffed.

  Adams glanced at Tomahawk. ‘Is Johnny telling the truth, old timer?’

  Both cowboys looked at one another. It was like two small children trying to work out if they might be in serious trouble.

  ‘We had us a leetle trouble with Cookie.’ Tomahawk finally said. ‘Just a leetle bit.’

  Adams sucked in his cheeks. ‘What kinda trouble?’

  ‘He bust his leg.’ Johnny quickly interrupted.

  ‘What?’ Adams voice raised. ‘The man who is the most important part of the cattle drive has broken his leg? We can’t start for McCoy with thousands of longhorns without a cook to wake and feed us. Cookie runs the whole show.’

  Tomahawk waved his bony hands in the air. ‘He only bust the one leg, Gene boy. Just the one.’

  Johnny turned away.

  Adams inhaled deeply. ‘So we ain’t got us a cook for the drive. Am I right?’

  Tomahawk gave a slow nod. ‘Yep.’

  The rancher looked at the heavens above them. It was as though he was seeking spiritual guidance in the blue sky.

  ‘It ain’t so bad, Gene boy.’ Tomahawk gave a toothless smile. ‘I ain’t so bad with a skillet. I could be the cook for the trail drive.’

  Adams looked down at the two figures. ‘What? I ain’t gonna let you cook for the boys, Tomahawk. Hell. They’ll either end up poisoned, dead or they’ll quit after the first day.’

  Tomahawk blinked. ‘That’s a leetle bit harsh.’

  ‘Gene’s right, you old fool.’ Johnny held on to his saddle horn and threw himself on to the back of the pinto pony. ‘You can’t boil water without burning it. We need a real experienced critter to replace Cookie.’

  ‘We could go to town and have us a look for a cook, Gene boy.’ The wily old cowboy suggested. ‘Have us a drink while we’re there looking.’

  Adams began to stare at the older man. ‘You had something to do with this, Tomahawk. You bust his leg somehow.’

  Johnny drew the reins up high. ‘He’s right. We could go to town and try and find us a new cook, Gene.’

  Gene Adams continued to exhale as though attempting to blow his frustration out of his body. ‘A trail drive cook is a pretty tough job and not many folks can handle it. They have to survive on a couple of hour’s shuteye a day and keep the boys not only fed but tell them when to work and when to rest up. Nope. We ain’t likely to find us an experienced cook in town, Johnny.’

  Tomahawk clambered up on to his horse. ‘Maybe we could find one over in Fargo Springs, Gene boy. I heard that the Circle J has just returned from their drive to McCoy. They gotta have themselves a cook for hire. What ya think?’

  Adams turned the mare. He sat staring at the bluebonnets for a while before answering. ‘We were going to set out in two days and now we have to ride for at least two days over to the Circle J. Then if we do find us a cook we have to bring him back and that’ll take us another two days.’

  Tomahawk shrugged. ‘Could be worse.’

  ‘How?’ Adams raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Could be a three day ride, Gene boy.’

  Johnny rubbed his jaw. ‘So we’ll be a few days late. We can always make it up if we get the boys ride an extra hour or so a day to make up the time.’

  Adams frowned. ‘I’ve given my word to the cattle agents up north that we’ll have the herd in McCoy by the first of next month. I sure hate running that close to the wire.’

  ‘We sure ain’t gonna get no place unless we stops gabbing and starts for Fargo Springs.’ Tomahawk turned his black quarter horse and tapped his spurs. The horse galloped off. Tomahawk yelled back at them. ‘C’mon.’

  Johnny and the rancher swung their horses around and stared through the hoof dust at the wily old timer as he rode away from them. Both men rose in their stirrups and whipped their reins across their horses tails. The horses took flight in pursuit.

  When Adams’ high shouldered mount drew level with the smaller horseman he looked at the whiskered face. He leaned across the distance between them at his old friend and then shouted at the top of his voice.

  ‘Hey. You ain’t told me exactly how Cookie bust his leg, Tomahawk. Did you have anything to do with it?’

  Tomahawk spurred harder. He did not answer.

  Adams glanced at Johnny as the youngster’s pinto pony moved to where the quarter horse had been only seconds before. Both men smiled at one another. ‘C’mon, boy. We got us an old goat to catch up with.’

 

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