Review of POSTCARDS FROM VALHALLA by DANNY WESTON

 In a departure from what I normally blog about, this is a review of a novel for Young Adults, POSTCARDS FROM VALHALLA, written by DANNY WESTON. Danny Weston is an alternative pen name used by PHILIP CAVENEY.

Phil is a friend of mine but he’s more than that. He was a mentor to me and helped me get started as a writer. I go into further detail about this on THE SIX GUN JUSTICE podcast where I’m interviewed by acclaimed author and podcaster PAUL BISHOP. Here’s a link to the podcast: https://www.sixgunjustice.com/2022/11/six-gun-justice-podcast-episode_0314401616.html

Here’s some of what I say on the podcast: ‘I have to credit a friend of mine called Phil Caveney… I went to a writing group he was running and he took me aside. He said ‘I think… you should become a writer. I think you’ve got talent’ … This was the first published author I’d ever met… he was successful. I gave him a lot of respect because he’d actually done it. He was a professional writer… what he was doing worked.’

Phil’s first novel, ‘THE SINS OF RACHEL ELLIS’ was published in 1977 and he produced a series of adult thrillers over the following decades. His first novel for younger readers, ‘SEBASTIAN DARKE: PRINCE OF FOOLS’ was released in 2007. Since then, he has concentrated on writing exclusively for younger readers. He also writes under the pseudonym DANNY WESTON. Danny's debut novel ‘THE PIPER’ won the Scottish Children's Book Award in 2016 and in 2018, ‘THE HAUNTING OF JESSOP RISE’ was shortlisted for the Scottish Teenage Book prize and nominated for a Carnegie Medal.

POSTCARDS FROM VALHALLA is specifically pitched at Young Adult readers.

POSTCARDS exceeds any previous Caveney/ Weston book in the number of awards it’s been nominated for, which are: The Leeds Teen book award, The Staffordshire Teen book award, The Hampshire Teen Book Award and the Hounslow Teen Book Award. It was long-listed for the Warwickshire Teen Book Award and the Er... Amazing Book Award.

Here’s the blurb for POSTCARDS FROM VALHALLA:

Viggo is fifteen years old, living in Edinburgh with his mum. He has no plans for the future other than to watch the new Thor movie at his local multiplex. But one morning, he wakes to the news that his older brother, Magnus, has gone missing on Shetland. Mum has already booked tickets to go and search for him. There’s good reason to be worried. Five years ago, Viggo’s dad, Jonathan, went ‘off grid’ in the same location and disappeared. He is now ‘missing presumed dead.’ Viggo has no option but to go to Shetland with Mum - but from the moment they set off, he’s troubled by strange visions: images of armed warriors, mythical creatures and Viking longships. And then they encounter Leon, a mysterious wandering musician who attaches himself to them and proves impossible to shake off. Once on Shetland, the search for Magnus begins in earnest and Viggo’s troubling visions start to intensify. Soon he is finding it difficult to separate fact from fantasy… and who knows what terrors lie in wait for him deep beneath the ground?

And here’s my four star review:

‘A rattling good yarn rooted in adolescent angst and Viking mythology

Another cracking YA novel by Danny Weston, who also writes as Philip Caveney. Viggo Ryan is a 15-year-old boy still traumatised by the disappearance of his father 5 years earlier. Dad went missing while excavating Viking ruins in the Shetland Islands off the north coast of Scotland. Now Viggo’s brother Magnus has vanished in the same location. Viggo’s mother decides to go to Shetland and find both lost family members, taking Viggo with her. Along the way they’re joined by Leon, a so-called ‘travelling musician’ who is definitely more than he seems. In Shetland they encounter a tech-billionaire with an interest in Viking history, particularly in a mysterious cave under a mysterious tree. Viggo tries to find refuge in his normal adolescent concerns but he’s increasingly plagued by dreams and hallucinations, not only of his lost brother and father but of figures from Viking legend and mythology. It all comes to a climax in the cave under the tree… For me the joy of this tale is in the telling. Caveney/Weston always writes a rattling good yarn, but here his writing is on particularly good form, witty, conversational, suspenseful and exciting when it needs to be. And galloping along at a rollicking pace that entertains the reader throughout. Highly recommended.’

I did some browsing on related matters, getting most of my information from Wikipedia.

I decided the Vikings merited a blog entirely to themselves. In this bog I’m only going to focus briefly on issues relating to POSTCARDS FROM VALHALLA specifically.

The Shetland Islands are a group of islands belonging to Scotland, lying in the North Sea between the north-east tip of Scotland and the south-west of Norway. They are about 110 miles (170 km) from Scotland and 140 miles (220 km) from Norway. 

Features of the islands are the rugged coastline and low, rolling, mostly treeless hills. Native trees such as rowan and crab apple are only found in a few isolated places such as cliffs and loch islands. 

The general character of the climate is windy, cloudy and often wet.

The Shetland pony and Shetland sheepdog are two well-known Shetland animal breeds. 

Because of the islands' latitude, on clear winter nights the Northern Lights can sometimes be seen in the sky, while in summer there is almost perpetual daylight, a state of affairs known locally as the "simmer dim.” 

Humans have lived in Shetland since the Mesolithic period. The British tribe known as the Picts were the inhabitants of the islands prior to invasion by the Vikings (also known as the Norse.) The Norse conquered and colonised the islands during the late 8th and 9th centuries. We don’t know what happened to the indigenous Pictish population.

From the 10th to 15th centuries the islands formed part of Norway. In 1472, the Lordship of Shetland was absorbed into the Kingdom of Scotland.  

JAMES THE THIRD of Scotland and PRINCESS MARGARET of Denmark whose betrothal in 1469 led to Shetland passing from Norway to Scotland three years later.

The local way of life in Shetland reflects the Norse heritage of the isles, including the Up Helly Aa fire festivals and a strong musical tradition, especially the traditional fiddle style. Almost all place names in the islands have Norse origin.

There are numerous Viking historical sites in the islands. At Underhoull on the Isle of Unst are the remains of Viking longhouses. There are more rural longhouses – 30 in total – in Unst that anywhere else in the world, including Scandinavia.

Here’s Skidbladner – a replica Viking galley or longship at Haroldswick, Unst.

Adjoining is a reconstruction of a Viking longhouse.

Here’s a few elements of Norse mythology that feature in POSTCARDS FROM VALHALLA

Yggdrasil is an immense and sacred ash tree. Around it exists all else, including the Nine Worlds.

Yggdrasil is in the centre of the Norse cosmos, a gathering place of the gods. Creatures living within Yggdrasil including the dragon Niohoggr and the hawk Veorfolnir.  

Harbard (aka Greybeard) the Ferryman refuses, in one Norse tale, to ferry the god Thor across a swollen river. Instead he mocks and curses him. Some scholars think Harbard was the god Loki (known for his trickery) using another name; others that Harbard is the god Odin in disguise.

Shetland has been depicted in film several times, including THE EDGE OF THE WORLD (1937) made by the acclaimed English director MICHAEL POWELL and filmed on the island of Foula. Despite being in black and white the film captures the stark beauty of the islands.

The BBC TV series ‘Shetland,’ a crime drama, is set in the islands and partly filmed there. I can’t comment on it as I haven’t seen it.

If I do produce a blog about Vikings it’s likely the 1958 film THE VIKINGS will feature as it’s one of my favourite movies!

KIRK DOUGLAS in ‘The Vikings’ (1958)

I’ve also given a 4-star review to another YA novel by this author, this time writing as Philip Caveney. STAND AND DELIVER is an adventure yarn about highwaymen in 18^th Century England. From my review: ‘An exciting, enjoyable romp with some nice touches of humour, counterbalanced by plenty of gritty action.’

Find the review here: https://andrewmcbrideauthor.blogspot.com/2023/05/review-of-stand-and-deliver-by-philip.html

Other reviews of POSTCARDS FROM VALHALLA:

‘A brilliant book!’

‘A very good book for teenagers… I like the overarching idea that family is family and, no matter how infuriating or annoying we find them at times, we still love them and look out for them.’

‘Myth and magic, plus realistic teens! …Loved it. There’s some fab characters, brilliant settings, and magic realist elements steeped in Norse mythology.’

 

Find POSTCARDS FROM VALHALLA here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Postcards-Valhalla-Danny-Weston/dp/1915235650

REVIEW of HIRED GUNS by STEVE HOCKENSMITH

 

STEVE HOCKENSMITH has written novels that are a hybrid of western and mystery, hybrids of horror and classic novels (‘Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls’) and a mix of mystery and magical. He’s also written short stories.

Several of Steve’s short stories have been nominated for awards in the mystery field. He won the Short Mystery Fiction Society's Derringer Award for ERIE'S LAST DAY, published in the May 2000 issue of ‘Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine.’  Other short stories were finalists for the Shamus Awards and the Anthony and Barry Awards.

His short story HIRED GUNS: MULE’S GOLD was, for me, one of the highlights of the SIX GUN JUSTICE PODCAST WESTERN STORIES anthology. From my review of this anthology: ‘HIRED GUNS: MULE’S GOLD is a stark outdoors tale of prospectors searching the harsh Sonora desert for an abandoned gold mine. Meanwhile, they’re being stalked by hidden enemies. Again this features terse, cinematic prose, with some laconic humour. It reads like the gritty first chapter of a novel (or a series) which I would be very happy to read.’

Well, now it is one! It’s the first in a series of ‘Double-A Western Detective Agency’ novels.

Here’s my four star review of HIRED GUNS, the novel:

‘Fun’ is not a term that features too frequently in reviews of western fiction – more often books in this genre are praised for being ‘action-packed,’ ‘gritty,’ ‘exciting’ etc. But Steve Hockensmith’s ‘HIRED GUNS’ manages to tick all those traditional western boxes and still be rollicking good fun. It’s the first in a series of ‘Double-A Western Detective Agency’ novels. In 1894 Arizona a diverse group of mercenaries – an Anglo, a Mexican, a black man and an Apache – sign up to the Double-A. They’re tasked with helping a small mining company in its David-and-Goliath fight with a larger mining conglomerate. Action soon ensues. While there’s plenty of the laconic and the menacing in Hockensmith’s prose (‘Hoop and Romo watched Schuck’s men in tense, coiled silence.’) he freshens up the familiar western aspects with quirky humour where quips fly as fast as fists and bullets. So a satisfying and entertaining read for those seeking the usual western thrills, but also a lively re-invention for anyone looking for something more original. Highly recommended.’ 

You can find the review (and novel) online here: https://www.amazon.com/Hired-Guns-Western-Double-Detective-ebook/dp/B0CZXXGR4F/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr

and here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Hired-Guns-Western-Double-Detective-ebook/dp/B0CZXXGR4F

It’s difficult to find historical examples of gun men in the Old West involved in mining disputes. In the so-called ‘Battle of Cripple Creek’ – which also happened in 1894 – there was a dispute between the owners of the 150 mines in the area of Cripple Creek, Colorado, and the miners. The mine owners wanted to cut costs by slashing miners’ wages and extending the working day. The miners went on strike in response. A County Sheriff intervened on behalf of the mine-owners, supported by six ‘deputies.’ When he sent a team of six deputies to defend a mine, they were captured by the local marshal's ‘special police,’ who were on the side of the strikers. So were these ‘deputies’ and ‘special police’ hired guns? In this instance the state governor intervened, sending the state militia to calm things down, and helped negotiate a better deal.

BAT MASTERSON (1853 - 1921)

BAT MASTERSON and other gunmen were involved in the so-called Royal Gorge Railroad War of 1879. This clash was between the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway and the smaller Denver and Rio Grande Company. Masterson and co. were actually on the side of the larger company, (whereas the heroes in ‘HIRED GUNS’ are on the side of the underdog.) As a sheriff in Kansas at the time, Masterson had no authority in Colorado, but this did not prevent him from enlisting a large company of men, including  such noted gunmen as BEN THOMPSON, 'MYSTERIOUS DAVE' MATHER and possibly 'DOC' HOLLIDAY. However, Masterson's involvement came to an inglorious end on June 12, 1879, when he surrendered a roundhouse his men were holding. The ‘war’ between the railroads was finally settled out of court.

The most notable example on screen of a team of mercenaries hired to fight a powerful enemy is, of, course, THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (1960.) I’m surprised I’ve not been banished from every western movie forum in existence, as I have previously expressed my opinion that this is NOT a great western film. It’s good, it has a great score and good action scenes, but it’s not a masterpiece, particularly in comparison with the film that spawned it, Akira Kurosawa’s SEVEN SAMURAI (1954) which is, IMHO, a masterpiece.

THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN itself spawned a series of mediocre spin-offs, including a 2016 remake where the ‘hired guns’ take on a mining tycoon.   

Another ‘hired guns’ movie is THE PROFESSIONALS from 1966.

A clash with a large mining company out west is depicted in BROKEN LANCE (1954.) Here they’re in dispute with a local cattle rancher.

SPENCER TRACY in ‘Broken Lance’

On TV conflicts with mining companies are depicted in ‘The Big Valley’ episode ‘Heritage’ and ‘The High Chaparral’ episode ‘No Irish Need Apply.’

From the right: CAMERON MITCHELL, HENRY DARROW and JOHN VERNON in ‘No Irish Need Apply.’

More reviews of ‘HIRED GUNS’:

“Tempered with a wry grin and the wink of an expert Western wordslinger, Steve Hockensmith delivers the action fast and hard as iron.”

“Steve Hockensmith has jumped to the front of the line to establish himself as a top-shelf creator of westerns… he’s a genre wordsmith with his own voice whose already here and giving us fortunate readers his very best.” 

“Steve Hockensmith paces the story superbly, building to a terrific final showdown. ... The story also contains some neat twists and turns and a touch of mystery. If you like traditional westerns that are packed with tough, brutal action, mixed with elements of humour and have plots that will keep you guessing until the end, then look no further than Hired Guns.” 

I’ve also blogged about Steve’s novel HOLMES ON THE RANGE where a character seeks to be the Sherlock Holmes of the Old West.

The blog includes a look at the Sherlock Holmes phenomenon, which has lasted 140 years. Find it here: https://andrewmcbrideauthor.blogspot.com/2022/03/author-favourites-holmes-on-range-by.html

 

Read a SAMPLE CHAPTER of MEXICAN SUNSET by ANDREW McBRIDE

 

I’m very happy to announce my ninth novel – and ninth western novel – MEXICAN SUNSET has been published by Andride Press. It was published as an e.book on September 17 2024 and as a paperback on October 15 2024.

The cover (from an Adobe Stock image, design by Richard Hearn) reflects the novel’s setting – southern Arizona and the Sierra Madre mountains of Sonora, Mexico.

MEXICAN SUNSET is the ninth in my series acclaimed western novels featuring the same central character, CALVIN TAYLOR (sometimes known as ‘CHOCTAW,’ although he’s not an Indian.)  It is a stand-alone novel. However, in it Calvin Taylor is taking stock of his life and does refer back to earlier adventures, particularly those recounted in THE PEACEMAKER. But you don’t need to have read any other Andrew McBride books to appreciate and enjoy MEXICAN SUNSET.

I wanted the book to have an elegiac, end-of-the-west feel, as captured in films like ‘The Wild Bunch,’ where the real frontier Old West is already being overtaken by legends and folklore, as represented by the Dime Novels and the ‘Wild West shows’ that proliferated in the late 19^th Century.

'The Wild Bunch' (1969)

BLURB:

1886. Geronimo and the last band of Apache hold-outs have surrendered. The Indian Wars in the United States are over. Which poses a problem for Calvin Taylor: what does an Indian scout do when there are no more hostile Indians to track down? Taylor can use the skills he’s learned to hunt down lawbreakers of all races, working as a hired gun on a fading frontier; or help mark the passing of that frontier by becoming a celebrity in a Wild West Show, a living museum piece.

Instead he decides to go to Mexico and join the Mexican Army, who have their own Apache hold-outs to conquer: the mysterious renegades known as ‘The Nameless Ones,’ hiding deep in the Sierra Madre. He’s also on a quest to find the woman he loved and drove away, who may be hiding with them, and perhaps heal his empty life that way.

As he climbs into the grim and forbidding mountains Taylor faces violence and danger not only from Apaches, but also from an unexpected enemy: a ruthless and cunning bandit known as ‘The Scorpion,’ who is after the same woman, for twisted reasons of his own. Only he intends to kill her…

What do you think? Feel free to comment (and on the sample chapter too.) All feedback very much appreciated!

ISBN Number: 979-8341014213

You can BUY MEXICAN SUNSET on the usual sites, such as Amazon.com. Find the ebook here https://www.amazon.com/Mexican-Sunset-Andrew-McBride-ebook/dp/B0D8XLQ81Z?ref_=ast_author_mpb and the paperback here https://www.amazon.com/Mexican-Sunset-Andrew-McBride/dp/B0DK4LF6Q7/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

and on Amazon.co.uk – e.book here https://www.amazon.co.uk/Mexican-Sunset-Andrew-McBride-ebook/dp/B0D8XLQ81Z?ref_=ast_author_mpb and paperback here https://www.amazon.co.uk/Mexican-Sunset-Andrew-McBride/dp/B0DK4LF6Q7/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

REVIEWS

MEXICAN SUNSET already has one rating – 5 star! As reviews accumulate, I’ll created a blog as an ongoing scrapbook of them.

SAMPLE CHAPTER

To give you a flavour of the novel, a SAMPLE CHAPTER - CHAPTER THREE - follows.

THE SETTING: Arizona Territory 1886. The central character of the novel is Indian scout CALVIN TAYLOR. Taylor is present when the last hostile Indians in the United States – Chiricahua Apache hold-outs led by GERONIMO and NACHAY – surrender to the U.S. Army, commanded here by GENERAL NELSON MILES. Miles begins the process of transporting the surrendered Indians to the nearest railhead at Fort Bowie, where they’ll be placed on a train to Florida. However, Taylor learns two of Geronimo’s band – a young warrior called BESH and an older man called MACHOGEE - have not surrendered their weapons and have broken away. He suspects they’re still in the vicinity hoping to disrupt the peace, perhaps by ambushing the soldiers and killing Miles himself. Taylor and a friendly Apache scouting for the army, JOSÉ, set out to prevent this…

Four Apaches in 1886, before they surrendered: GERONIMO (2^nd from left)  NACHAY – son of COCHISE – (3^rd from left)

MEXICAN SUNSET

Chapter Three

 

Late in the afternoon they came to the mouth of Wolf Canyon.

The soldiers set up camp. Cook fires were lit and evening meals prepared – in this army, there were no company cooks, soldiers on campaign were expected to feed themselves.

The Chiricahuas camped a little distance away, lighting their own fires.

Meanwhile, Taylor hunkered down, chewed a piece of jerky and let his eyes wander over his surroundings as unobtrusively as possible.

Wolf Canyon was a narrow, twisting high-sided pass. A dandy place for an ambush.

He glimpsed General Miles, a tall figure in a pith helmet, striding among his troops. Meanwhile soldiers began setting up the general’s tent, which was, naturally, the only tent of any size in this outfit. It was a Sibley, standing pretty close to twelve feet when fully assembled. Lieutenant Gatewood supervised.

Taylor strode over. He told Gatewood, “Lieutenant, if I were you, I’d set the general’s tent up back here.” He jabbed a thumb over his right shoulder, indicating behind him. “Out of rifle range of those canyon walls.”

“What’s up?”

Taylor told him about Besh and Machogee. As he did so José wandered over, his Winchester carbine cradled in his arms.

Gatewood said, “I’d better warn the general.”

Taylor said, “All right, long as you don’t spook him. While you do that, me and José’ll have a look around.” He asked the Apache, “If you were after Bear Coat, where would you put yourself?”

José shrugged.

Gatewood said, “Watch yourself, Taylor.”

Taylor smiled. “I usually do, most times.”

“This isn’t like most times.”

“Uh?”

 “If it comes to fighting, this might be the last scrimmage of the whole American Indian Wars. After fighting Apaches all this time, you don’t want to get killed by the last bullet fired.”

Taylor thought about that. “That would be kind of stupid, wouldn’t it?”

“Good luck.”

José wandered off as if he wasn’t going anywhere in particular.

Taylor chewed jerky he didn’t taste for another minute or so, then strode over to his horse on the picket line. Figuring the renegades might be watching him, the scout pretended to inspect Blue’s feet and hocks. He ducked under the animal’s belly so that he was crouched low among the horses, hidden by them. He hooked his Winchester rifle out of its saddle-scabbard. Then he moved swiftly through and out of the horse herd and half-ran up the nearest slope into cover.

Taylor paused in a clump of mesquite. Maybe Besh and Machogee weren’t watching him and he’d performed a silly pantomime for no reason.

Then again, maybe they were.

The sun was sliding down in the west, shadows capturing the canyon. The sky was in its getting-close-to-sundown colours, mauve turning purple. It was a time of day he liked ordinarily, but not now. There was a load of worry in his guts, the cold rottenness of fear.

He was more scared than he ought to be.

Gatewood’s words had done it. ‘This might be the last scrimmage of the whole American Indian Wars.’ In his mind’s eye, Taylor read a grim epitaph on his tombstone: Survived fifteen years of fighting Apaches, killed by the last bullet fired.

When a turkey gobbled nearby, he almost jumped out of his moccasins.

He told himself: For Christ’s sake. Of course it wasn’t a real turkey, they didn’t gobble this time of day. A turkey call was the signal he’d arranged with José.

He gazed at where the signal had come from, a riot of brush and rocks on the far slope. He strained his eyes looking for José, seeing nothing, and then there he was, standing between two tall boulders. The Apache indicated upslope and behind him. So he was going to scout up there. Taylor gestured that he’d climb upslope on this side.

José vanished. Taylor wiped off the sweat on his hands on his pants and took up his Winchester. He did possess a Colt pistol, but had left it in his saddle bags. If he let a bronco Apache get within short gun range of him, he deserved everything he got.

He began scaling the slope.

The earth was shale and sand, strewn with small rocks and brush, so it was hard work moving quietly, even in his Chiricahua moccasins, with their soles stuffed with grass. He took his time about it, pausing and listening frequently. He passed through tangled thickets of mesquite and palo verde trees. By then the sun had almost set. Only its topmost rim showed, a pale golden glow above the western horizon. The land around him was rapidly darkening, pearly light fading, and shadows claiming everything.

As there was no sense in blundering about blindly, Taylor held still and listened.

He strained his ears until he thought they’d hurt. Hearing sundown noises. Birdsong. A coyote letting loose a long howl. Squirrels chittering. A horned owl hooing. The belch-like croak of a red-spotted toad.

So far, so normal.

And then one sound that wasn’t.

The rattle of a stone clattering down slope.

Unlikely any animal had made that noise. But a human, however careful, was too heavy-footed to move as silently as a critter of the night.

There was a man moving on the slope above him.

Taylor eased his fingers on the rifle he held, discovering they ached from gripping the Winchester so tightly. Fear was in him now, in the usual places: a lump of ice in his belly, a dry tightness in his throat, a faint dizziness, a slight trembling in his arms. A feeling he’d known – how many times?

Too many.

Taylor went back to listening hard. He detected other small, out-of-place noises, the disturbing of small stones perhaps, and tracked them. They seemed to be moving above him and to the left. There was a flash of movement, streaking through the near dark: a squirrel fleeing downslope, away from some threat.

The barrel of the rifle Taylor held gleamed, catching the light of the Apache moon, nearly full, on a sky deepening from indigo to black. He drew the rifle barrel back from moonlight into shadow.

He listened some more. And heard nothing. The man above him was holding still.

Taylor decided it was his turn to move.

And do it quietly through dim light and over tricky ground.

Reluctantly, he began to climb the slope.

Straight off, he almost made a mess of it. He slipped and his knee splashed into shale. But he was lucky; a coyote yarred only an instant later and masked most of the noise he made.

Or so he hoped.

Taylor climbed higher, moving from one piece of cover to another. He went as quietly as he could, and he’d learned to move very quietly indeed. For all that he seemed to make enough racket, crunching over loose ground, to fill Arizona.

Then he was almost at the crest. Another few yards and he’d be outlined against the sky. And he didn’t want that.

So he paused there, hunkered down. He wiped more sweat off the palms of his hands on his pants, and studied the ground below him.

Slopes choked in brush and low trees, their black limbs making bars across the pale earth, blotched with shadow. A tessellated pattern of black and pearl. He couldn’t see José. Or anybody.

For all that, his senses were telling him something down there was out of place.

After a time his attention settled on an unusual patch of greyness on the earth, under some bent-low mesquite bushes.

Taylor stared at this greyness until his eyes started to ache. By then he thought he’d worked out what he was looking at.

A man was lying there, face down, sighting along a rifle barrel. Someone with long grey hair reaching past his shoulders,

Machogee.

Taylor got down between rocks, pulling the butt of the Winchester into his shoulder, aiming at the sprawling man, dividing the grey hair with the front sight of his rifle. He thought: Got you, you son of a bitch.

His finger started its squeeze.

There was a small sound in his right ear. Behind and above him.

Taylor spun over. A piece of the darkness above him moved forward, partly into moonlight, and became a man.

Crouched like a panther on a jutting ramp of ground. A dark face split by a horizontal band of white paint, slashing the cheeks from ear to ear. A knife gleaming in his right hand.

Besh!

The Apache sprang.

As the Indian plunged down on him, Taylor kicked out.

By luck his foot caught Besh under the left side ribs and hooked him into the air. Besh somersaulted forward and crashed down on brush and rubble. Taylor lunged at him, was kicked in the stomach in return and did his own forward somersault. Landing drove all the air out of his lungs.

Both men were slow rising. But the Apache was quicker than his enemy. He was a tough bastard, bouncing back after a fall like that. Taylor was still on his knees, looking around for his rifle, when Besh was on his feet, the knife in his hand. He lunged at his enemy.

He grunted “Zas – tee!” (Kill!)

Taylor rose to meet the other’s charge. He grabbed for the man’s knife wrist, missed, and felt the fire of pain along his left forearm. He gasped. Taylor sprang back, feeling the knife snatch at his shirt front. A rock caught him behind his heel and he fell backwards. Twisting, he landed on his side. Carried by momentum, Besh spilled over him, ploughing to his knees. He started to scramble up.

Taylor launched himself across space, landing on Besh’s back. But the Apache twisted, hooking an arm behind Taylor’s head, going to one knee and yanking the white man forward. He tossed Taylor over his right shoulder like a feed sack. Taylor somersaulted headlong and came down on his back. He seemed to land on every rock in Arizona.

He lay stunned.

Surely a fall like that had broken his spine?

He gazed at the night sky. It was a restless sky, scattered with stars that shifted about, changing places with each other. He wished they’d quit doing that.

Taylor seemed to ache from the back of his neck to the soles of his feet. He was completely immobile, without an ounce of strength, no air left in his lungs, pretty much every bone broken. Each time he’d tried wrestling with Besh he’d ended up like this, flat on his back in the dust.

Maybe he couldn’t beat this man in a hand-to-hand fight.

Why hadn’t Besh closed in and finished him off?

Taylor attempted to lift his head and surprised himself. He managed it. Besh stood a dozen yards away, glancing around. Taylor made another surprising discovery. He could still think: he worked out the Apache was looking for his knife, or Taylor’s rifle, or another weapon.

The white man told himself: you can lift your head up, you lazy son of a bitch, see what else you can raise off the ground.

Somehow he managed to sit up. Next he struggled to his knees.

Besh bent to the earth, straightened and turned towards his enemy, the knife in his hand. He braced himself, ready to charge.

Taylor glimpsed movement in the tail of his left eye. He turned his head and glanced at the long slope behind and below him. A man thrust forward into view.

Machogee with his rifle raised, butt to his shoulder.

The Apache aimed; Taylor found himself looking into the muzzle of the weapon.

Machogee pitched headlong, throwing his rifle ahead of him. It clattered on stones.

There was the sound of a shot.

While Taylor stared at the fallen man Besh yelled, “Zas-tee!” He charged his enemy.

Taylor plunged his hands wrist-deep in shale and came up with both hands full. As Besh leaped at him, he flung a hail of stones into the Apache’s face. Besh cried out and lifted his arms to shield his eyes. With absolutely the last of his strength, Taylor sprang at his opponent.

The white man bore the Indian to the ground, sprawling over him. The knife was in the Apache’s hand, trapped between them. Taylor got both hands to the Indian’s hand, turning the blade he held downwards so the point rested on the centre of Besh’s chest.

Taylor pressed down, leaning his full weight on the back of his hands. His body weight drove the blade into the Apache’s chest, all the way to the guard. Besh groaned; then his mouth filled with blood. It came out of both sides of his mouth, and his nose. The dying man kicked and writhed below the living one. Then his movements slowed, and the rattle started in his throat.

White man and Indian lay together like spent lovers. Then Taylor, conscious of how much blood was soaking through his shirt, found the strength to roll aside.

José approached, rifle in hand.

The Apache gazed at the white man in alarm. “You hurt?”

Taylor shook his head. The Indian still looked doubtful; Taylor realised that was because of the blood all over his shirt. He said, “This ain’t mine.” But then the long cut on the underside of his left forearm reminded him that wasn’t the whole truth. It burned like hell. He asked, “You get Machogee?”

“He’s one of the nameless ones.”

Which meant yes. Apaches were forbidden from saying the names of the dead, unless in exceptional circumstances. Taylor said, “You saved my life. Gracias.”

José gave a small, don’t-mention-it shrug. “You seemed to be having a time of it.”

“With-?”

 Just in time, Taylor stopped himself from saying the name of the man he’d killed. He gazed at Besh, lying face up in the moonlight, the haft of the knife standing straight up in the middle of his chest.

Taylor said, “He was better at wrestling than me.”

“You won.”

“I fought dirty.”

José made a sarcastic noise at this strange concept of the white man. “He’s the one who’s dead.”

Wearily Taylor rose to his feet. “We better report back to Long Nose. Let’s hope that rifle shot didn’t spook the Chiricahuas.”

It hadn’t. Gatewood listened gravely as Taylor described what happened. Then the soldier said, “Maybe that’s your place in the history books.”

“Huh?”

 “Don’t you realise? You might be the last man to shed blood in these whole American Indian Wars.” Long Nose smiled ironically. “Close to three hundred years of killing, and it all ends with you, Taylor.”

****

Find all the Andrew McBride novels – CANYON OF THE DEAD, DEATH WEARS A STAR, DEATH SONG, THE ARIZONA KID, SHADOW MAN, THE PEACEMAKER, COYOTE’S PEOPLE, CIMARRÓN and MEXICAN SUNSET – here on Amazon.com: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Andrew-McBride/author/B01N9O1C05?ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true 

And here on Amazon.co.uk: https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Andrew-McBride/author/B01N9O1C05?ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

All but CIMARRÓN (only available as a hardback at present) are available as e.books. MEXICAN SUNSET is available as an e.book and a paperback.