The Guns of Santa Sangre. Eric Red
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>“Bloody fights, desert vistas, a touch of romance, and plenty of werewolf action make THE GUNS OF SANTA SANGRE a fast-paced adventure. Screenwriter and author Red (DON’T STAND SO CLOSE) delivers a supernatural Western that should appeal to fans of the growing ‘weird West’ genre.”
—Library Journal
“THE GUNS OF SANTA SANGRE is an old-fashioned, well-made dime novel, doing Louis L’Amour, Elmore Leonard and Richard Matheson proud.”
—Bookgasm
“Imagine THE MAGIFICENT SEVEN mixed with DOG SOLDIERS and you’ve got Eric Red’s THE GUNS OF SANTA SANGRE. It’s full of classic horror moments, non-stop action, and characters pushed to the edge. Three outlaws are hired by a young woman to protect her village from what she claims is a pack of werewolves. Seeing it as an easy job for three gunslingers looking to make some quick coin, they begin a journey that will forever change the way they see the world. Filled with action set pieces and terrifying monsters that are ready-made for big screen adaptation, GUNS is a fun and exciting read that no horror fan should miss.”
—Famous Monsters of Filmland
“I really like the trend combining horror with Westerns and THE GUNS OF SANTA SANGRE increases my confidence in this surprisingly popular sub-genre. I thoroughly enjoyed Red’s novel with its flawed heroes and the savagery of the werewolves. If you have yet to read a horror Western, this is a good book to start with.”
—Horror Fiction Review
“It’s a fun, bloodsoaked read…If werewolves and westerns are your bag, THE GUNS OF SANTA SANGRE will be your huckleberry.”
—Fangoria
“In our mythos of the Old West, there are bad guys and even badder guys. But Eric Red’s are the biggest, baddest guys of all...”
—Jack Ketchum
“With THE GUNS OF SANTA SANGRE, Eric Red delivers a wild mash-up of action-thriller and bloody horror. This one really digs its claws into you from page one to last bite. Fast, furious, and wickedly fun. Highly recommended.”
—Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of FIRE & ASH and EXTINCTION MACHINE
“It’s THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN meets DOG SOLDIERS! Taut, action packed and gory as hell! I couldn’t put it down!”
—Arrow In The Head at JoBlo.com
“For connoisseurs of the Old West, Eric Red’s THE GUNS OF SANTA SANGRE has all the elements of a classic:
*It opens with a fast-and-furious stagecoach heist;
*It has outlaws who, beneath their coarse exterior, boast hearts of gold;
*It has touches of SEVEN SAMURAI and THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN;
*It has a beautiful heroine disguised as a boy;
And...oh yes!...it has WEREWOLVES!
Quick, smooth, easily read, an almost filmic rendition of the time-honored traditions of the Western, with a deftly handled incursion of the unnatural, with the two blended into a single, intriguing story.”
—Collings Notes
Copyright © 2017 Smash Cut Productions LTD
Cover art copyright © 2017 John Gallagher
First published in Paperback in 2013 by Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Copyright © Smash Cut Productions LTD 2013
The Wolves of El Diablo excerpt © 2017 Smash Cut Productions LTD
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-909640-96-2
2017 SST Publications eBook Edition
Published by
Short, Scary Tales Publications
15 North Roundhay
Birmingham
B33 9PE
England
www.sstpublications.co.uk
eBook design by Paul Fry
First Digital Edition: March 2017
To my grandmother, Meg “Mimi” Wilson,
whose love and support will last me a lifetime,
and Spunky, my little werewolf.
Other Books in Eric Red’s The Men Who Walk Like Wolves Series
The Wolves of El Diablo – Coming 2017
The Claws of Rio Muerta – Coming 2018
CHAPTER ONE
John Whistler reckoned he was within thirty miles of the wanted men when they lost the wheel. Now the stagecoach was out of commission, the bounty hunter stranded to hell in the bowels of the Mexican desert, with nobody but two damn do-nothing stage drivers and the Sonoma rental wench. It was the gloaming, the sky getting dark, but the edge was off the terrible heat so he figured they’d picked a good time to break down as any.
The big mustached man in duster and ten-gallon hat stood impatiently rotating and clicking the cylinder of his Colt Dragoon pistol about two hundred feet from the disabled wagon. Whistler stared out at the forbidding, craggy Durango canyon country and vast canopy of turquoise- and purple- and rose-streaked late evening sky. He listened to the two Wells Fargo men arguing and cussing and the sounds of banging and creaking as the men finished the repairs on the broken slats of the right rear wheel they were fitting back into place. The weathered brown carriage was tilted at an obtuse angle. The team of four horses stood bored in their harness at the front of the chassis, tails flitting at flies.
Whistler looked over to where the sweat-soaked fifteen-year-old prostitute in the black velvet corset and petticoat stood fanning herself. She winked at him. Eyes of violet, red hair spilling down her shoulders, she smelt sweetly of rose water and sex. Her name she’d told him was Daisy and she had herself a going concern riding the stage line back and forth, servicing passengers and kicking back a few bucks to the driver. A sweet little set up. The whore had been knee to knee with him the whole trip from Sonoma in the cramped and jouncing stage, bouncing pale freckled breasts spilling out of her corset a few feet from his face on the opposite seat. The first ten got him a blowjob. Another twenty got her to hike up her petticoats and the bump of the stage did the work for him.
The bounty hunter took out his silver pocket watch on the chain from his vest and snapped it open. The name “John Whistler” was engraved in elegant lettering inside the lid. The hands of the clock read 7:53. Annoyed at being behind schedule, the man gruffly closed the watch and pocketed it.
The stagecoach junction was supposed to be just twenty miles from here, the old driver told him. Damn bit of luck. Whistler would have been there already, should have made it by dusk but for the stage mishap. Hell, he had those bad men he hunted dead to rights. They might not be there tomorrow morning. No matter, he was right on their ass and would catch up with them soon enough. The bounty hunter took out the folded wanted poster in his pocket and regarded it. The crudely sketched faces of the three outlaws stared back at him from the crumpled paper in the red hue of twilight.
Samuel Tucker.
John Fix.
Lars Bodie.
Notorious