Uriah moon 3, p.1
Uriah Moon 3, page 1
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After receiving a telegraph message from his cousin, the commanding officer at the notorious Fort Hook, vigilante Uriah Moon wonders why he of all people has been summoned to help the troubled Colonel Ambrose Moon. But as he soon discovers, a dangerous situation has been brewing, and it’s about ready to explode at any moment.
This is Apache country, and Fort Hook had been built directly opposite a place the Apaches hold sacred, a place where the Devil himself is said to live.
So Uriah finds gunfire, treachery and a desperate fight for life as he heads for the chilling patch of country known as … Lucifer’s Lair.
URIAH MOON 3: LUCIFER’S LAIR
By Gary Wayne
Copyright © 2021 by Gary Wayne
First Electronic Edition: May 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.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author.
Dedicated to my pal Stuart Wall.
Prologue
The darkness of a desert night had the ability to do many things but most of all it had the capability of providing cover. Cover, either to hide from attackers or create a shield by which the attackers might bushwhack the unsuspecting. So it had been at the rocky outcrop which the mysterious Uriah Moon had taken shelter at just after nightfall.
The perilous desert was dangerous enough without the added threat of three heavily armed riders tracking your horse’s hoof tracks for almost two days. The vigilante had reasoned that whatever these horsemen wanted, it was not good.
But Moon was not a man to shy away from danger. If they wanted trouble, Moon would willingly oblige them. With every mile that his gelded mustang had ventured into the arid territory, a plan fermented in his mind.
A plan which grew more and more detailed. By the time he reached the relative sanctuary of the rocky outcrop it had been sharpened like a straight razor. Moon had gambled with his very life as he had reached the desert oasis and decided to make camp. He suspected that the three horsemen who had been trailing him for days since he had left Apache Springs, were hired assassins.
Assassins who had arrived in town just a few hours late to help their paymaster. They had also wrongly assumed that the haunting vigilante who had sent their evil employer and his handful of hired killers to Boot Hill, had also stripped the infamous Morgan Bray of his small fortune.
A fortune which it was widely known that Bray kept in cash in his magnificent ranch house. Yet Uriah Moon had not even given Bray’s fortune a second thought as he had killed the cattle rancher and his hirelings.
The vigilante righted wrongs. He avenged the innocent because no one else would even try. He was no thief.
The trio of killers, led by the seasoned Bob Nolan, had watched Uriah Moon leaving the remote settlement of Apache Springs and followed him into the uncharted desert.
They had only one thought in their collective minds, and that was to bushwhack the haunting figure of Uriah Moon at the earliest opportunity. Then steal the money which they believed he had stolen from Bray.
It sounded a simple enough plan to Nolan and his two equally depraved cohorts. You wait for your prey to bed down for the night and then strike. It might have been simple if it had not been the mysterious Uriah Moon they tracked.
But Moon was a strange, formidable character. He lived by his own unwritten code. A code which no one else had ever understood.
Nolan and his cronies had seen the unforgettable rider leave Apache Springs and assumed that his long white hair and beard which reached his belt buckle meant that he was an old timer. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Moon was not as old as his colorless hair implied. It had gone prematurely grey years before.
There was another thing which the lethal assassins had not considered as they planned to bushwhack him while he slept.
Uriah Moon never slept.
So for two days and nights the cunning vigilante just rode further and further into the desert with his spineless followers trailing his hoof tracks. This was a test which Moon knew would prove his theory.
If they meant him no harm, they would have ended their chase.
If, on the other hand, they were out to bushwhack him they would remain on his trail and wait until he bedded down. As the sun began to set the unblinking vigilante had noticed the oasis he had visited several times before and knew it was time to test his three followers.
They had already taken his bait by trailing him deeper and deeper into the vast ocean of white sand. But Moon now intended to risk his neck by luring them into his web of death.
Moon’s honed instincts told him that they had only one thought and that was to kill and rob the strange man they had learned was named Uriah Moon. Being heavily armed cowards, they had also known the only sure way of surviving an encounter with a victim capable of fighting back was to strike while their unsuspecting target was asleep.
That would have worked with any other victim but not the mysterious Uriah Moon. For this was a unique individual who never slept and never felt the weariness which dominated all other creatures.
His brain always remained as sharp as a honed axe blade.
Uriah Moon had set up his camp. He had ignited a fierce campfire and given the illusion that he was asleep under his bedroll beside the fire. But the vigilante had never intended to lay down and wait for his would be killers to strike.
The three assassins imagined that they were following him but the truth was very different. They were not following him but they were being lured by the expressionless vigilante into his trap.
Moon was the spider and they were simply the flies.
Moon had waited for Nolan, Jennings and Reed to strike beneath the canopy of stars with the patience most men lack or simply never utilize.
His attackers had entered the rocky oasis from three different directions but the vigilantes keen blue eyes had spotted them all as they crept through the starlight.
Clutching his trusty Winchester in his hands, Moon had waited for them to show their intent and start shooting at what they assumed was his sleeping body.
When their bullets had started to ring out from their own repeating rifles and riddled his bedroll to ribbons, the vigilante had just watched.
Only then had Moon risen from between the outcrops numerous boulders and started to return fire. One by one he had cut them down and sent them to meet their Maker.
As if protected by some unseen deity, none of the three deadly attacker’s bullets came close to finding their mark. Moon had slowly moved away from the black boulders and surveyed their bodies with cold emotionless eyes.
He had been proven right. They had been out to kill him.
Crimson gore spilled from each of the hired killers as their twisted carcass’ lay on the sandy ground and pumped blood from their bullet holes. The flickering light of the campfire had made the sight even more horrendous than it actually was. Moon had walked around the twisted bodies for a few moments and then just to be certain he had drawn his Colt Peacemakers and fired at their already lifeless skulls.
The sound of the devilish shots echoed around the rocky oasis for a few moments before fading away. He had holstered his six-guns and shaken his head at the sickening sight.
Uriah Moon had felt no satisfaction from his bloody handiwork. His emotionless features just accepted that he had survived and they had bitten the dust. Their trap had failed and his had succeeded.
It had been as simple as that.
For hours after the deadly attack, the vigilante had sat beside his fiery campfire drinking coffee as his unblinking eyes had continued to study the bodies before him. Whoever they were they had learned a costly lesson.
It did not pay to try and kill Uriah Moon.
Before the sun had risen again the vigilante had rolled one cigarette after another and then smoked every one of them. The sand at his feet was littered with the spent cigarettes as Moon had noticed the stars beginning to fade across the heavens. Soon they would be gone and he had known that it would be time for him to also depart the oasis and continue on to Fort Hook.
Only as the new day had broken and sent its shafts of brilliant sunlight across the cloudless desert sky and began to steadily bake the dunes which surrounded the outcrop of boulders, had Uriah Moon risen to his full height and led his gelded mustang away from the oasis.
To the bearded Uriah Moon, it was over.
He was wrong.
It was only just beginning.
Chapter One
Suddenly a cloud of arrows buzzed through the desert air like a swarm of crazed hornets. Then a deafening volley of shots rang out sending rifle bullets flying to where the fleeing horseman was thundering away stride his gelded mustang. The lethal projectiles barely missed the infamous Uriah Moon as he whipped his mounts shoulders with his long leathers in silent defiance to the small band of Apache warriors who had emerged from between
Balancing in his stirrups, Moon could feel blood trailing down his back as his unholy face glanced at his attackers in bewildered surprise. The white haired rider had forgotten all about the fleeting glimpse of the braves that he had seen the previous day as he had journeyed to the outcrop of boulders at the oasis.
There had been no sign of them during the hours of darkness when he had been confronted by the three hired gunman and battled them to their bloody demise.
The galloping mustang blindly obeyed every one of its master’s commands as it ate up the sandy ground beneath its hoofs and kept finding renewed pace. Clouds of dust flew up into the dry air as the vigilante dragged his mount hard to the right and dropped on to the saddle. He rammed his spurs back into the flesh of the gelding.
The horse responded again and somehow increased its pace.
As the gelding leapt across a dry ravine and landed hard on the opposite side of the embankment, Moon swung his head and shoulders around.
The sight he saw chilled him to his very soul. The eleven painted warriors were expertly charging through his hoof dust atop their multi-colored pony’s brandishing their weaponry as they screamed in unison.
Moon swung back around and faced the desert sand that lay before his sturdy mustang. He spurred again and then gripped his reins with both hands and pulled it to the left.
His gelding obeyed and instantly changed direction without missing a single stride. The horseman scanned the horizon but all he could see was sand and then more sand. Moon lifted his reins and whipped the shoulders of his galloping mount as his fertile mind desperately searched for a solution which would get him out of this situation.
Yet no matter how hard Uriah Moon strained to think, all he could do was duck, dive and steer his faithful horse away from the arrows and bullets which continued to rain upon him. As he pulled back on his reins and changed direction once again an arrow passed with inches of his chest.
So far Moon had resisted the temptation of firing back at his attackers but his patience was running thin. He narrowed his ice blue eyes and gritted his teeth and spurred hard. The mustang started to navigate a route down into a long deep gully of white sand as Moon steered with one hand and drew one of his Peacemakers from its holster with the other.
The last thing the mindful vigilante wanted to do was start killing Apache braves without knowing why they had chosen to attack him. Yet as he heard another volley of arrows in flight the intrepid horseman listened to them hurtling above him.
It was an unearthly noise they made.
A sickening sound of impending doom. Uriah Moon leaned back and pulled his reins up to his chest and stopped his mount in its tracks. A mere heartbeat later the ground ahead of his snorting mustang filled with a half dozen arrows. Sand kicked up into the morning air as one by one the lethal arrows peppered the ground.
Moon swung around on his saddle and looked behind the tail of his gelding. It only took an instant to see the Apache braves entering the gully behind him.
‘Damn it all,’ Moon cursed as he gathered up his long leathers and jabbed his spurs into the flanks of his mount. The mustang reacted and rode up the banks of the gully back into the blinding sunlight. He fired his six-shooter into the air in a vain bid to deter the warriors but they kept on coming toward him.
Moon swung the horse around and then spotted a gap between two sand dunes. He thrust his spurs into the flesh of his mount and let the animal start running again.
As he leaned over the neck of his horse, the vigilante heard the sound of rifle shots ringing out behind him. Moon turned his head, saw nothing but clouds of dust being kicked up from his gelding’s hoof’s and then returned his attention to the sand dunes ahead of him.
Comforted by the thought that if he could not see them, then they could not see him. He spurred again. The gelding built up speed as Moon dragged his reins to the left and the right in a bid to avoid the bullets and arrows which sporadically cut through the dust in pursuit of the Apache’s prey.
After covering a half mile of the meandering trail, the vigilante hauled back on his long leathers and stopped the horse abruptly. A cloud of dust rose up around the mustang as its master pulled hard on his reins and then thrust his spurs into the animal’s flanks. Moon violently turned his snorting horse as the sand was filled with lethal arrows followed by another volley of bullets.
As the horse thundered off his heard the angry warriors behind him yelling as they too were forced to change directions and chase the fleeing horseman toward another series of gigantic dunes.
The mustang gained speed as another flight of arrows passed over his head and hit one of the sand mountains halfway up its enormous girth.
Uriah Moon spurred urgently and then twisted his reins to the side. The gelded mustang had barely taken two strides up the dune when it was turned sideways and started back down to level ground.
The vigilante had changed directions just in time. Sand burst from the dunes as it was riddled with bullets but the horseman paid it no heed. He whipped his long leathers at his mustangs tail and then cocked the hammer of one of his Peacemakers and fired at the whooping Apaches behind him.
Moon leaned hard to his left and guided the galloping horse with his legs as he feverishly fired back at his attackers again and again. Yet nothing seemed to deter them.
The screaming warriors kept chasing astride their painted pony’s as they released more arrows and fired more bullets at Moon as his spirited gelding continued to build up speed.
Uriah Moon knew that he was their target and yet somehow death had not yet claimed him. A cloud of arrows fell from the heavens causing the desperate horseman to alter his direction for the umpteenth time.
His ice blue eyes looked ahead as he noticed one of the projectiles had hit his numerous canteens. Water spilled out over his leg as the canteens bounced up and down as they hung from his saddle horn.
Moon looked to the left and the right as well as surveying the land before his charging horse. He had to find sanctuary in this otherwise lethal landscape but as hard as his eyes searched, he could see nothing but white sunbaked sand.
He leaned across the saddle rope of his valiant mustang and urged the horse on as he reached forward. His right arm stretched out and his hand grabbed hold of the metal bit that protruded from the animal’s mouth.
Summoning every last scrap of his strength, the vigilante pulled the horse’shead to the right and nearly caused the mustang to unseat its master as it obeyed and turned.
The horse then felt the urgent jabs of Moon’s spurs.
It responded and thundered ahead at breakneck pace. Moon glanced over his shoulder at the sight of the Apache braves who also changed their direction and charged into his hoof dust.
Moon straightened back up and looked at the dunes ahead of his mount. He then looked at the narrow gully between the mountains of sand and aimed his gelding at the gap.
The sound of rifle fire rang out and echoed off the dunes which littered this part of the desert. As bullets kicked up sprites of sand, the vigilante steered his mount straight at the gully.
Moon rode through the gully at speed leaving a cloud of dry dust hanging in the air behind him. He took a quick look over his shoulder at his pursuers and then swung back to stare at what lay ahead of him.
It was clear to the horseman that the Apaches were not frightened or deterred by his bullets. They just kept on chasing him as though he was the fox and they were the hounds.
Then his sand-sore eyes saw something ahead of him.
He pushed his six-shooters back into their holsters and drove the lathered up gelding on tow the sight ahead of him. As his horse’s hoof’s strode across the sloping sand Moon silently hoped that he was not racing toward a mirage.
Normally the keen witted Moon relied upon his senses to detect everything around him. Yet the sound of their constant rifle fire made his hearing almost redundant.
The sight which Uriah Moon was looking at was no mirage created by shimmering heat rising from the ocean of sand which surrounded him.
