The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

68: First Blood

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Storm by Diego Candia All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Storm desperately grabbed for his knife, twisting his body and pulling against Red Horn's fist knotted in his hair. He jerked his head back towards the restraining grip, hearing his assailant grunt in pain and surprise as Storm's head smashed into his face. I'll have to thank Jesse for that little trick...

Red Horn's grasp loosened, just for a moment, and Storm slashed out with his knife, feeling hot blood splatter his face. I might walk the Ghost Road tonight... The cut in Red Horn's brow opened like an angry mouth, blood pouring into his eye and smearing the war paint crusting his cheek. He grabbed Storm's wrist, pinning his knife hand helplessly to the ground above his head, and drew his own knife back just as Storm slammed a hard knee into his kidney from behind. But it won't be right now.

Red Horn cried out, arching in pain, and Storm rolled, throwing his opponent off balance and managing to haul himself free. Gunshots were echoing through the clearing, and Storm could hear the sounds of running feet through the leaf litter, shouts, and the sounds of fighting. He drew his knee up to his chest and kicked, grunting with effort as he felt Red Horn's face crunch beneath the hard sole of his boot. The dull, faraway ache in his chest and the sharp pinching of the burn across his shoulder added to his euphoria, making him giddy. Shoving the man away, he fought to regain his footing.

The shouting of soldiers grew louder, bullets ricocheting across the stone and timber walls. Red Horn staggered to his knees, blood streaming from his brow and from his nose. He lashed out suddenly with his feet, connecting with Storm's legs, and Storm found himself once again wallowing in the leaf litter. He flailed wildly, warding off a blow that never came.

Red Horn was gone. Breathing hard, Storm put a hand against the rough wall of the barn and hauled himself upright. He heard shouts in the darkness, voices fading as their owners disappeared into the shadows of the cottonwoods.

Did we run them off? Red Horn's going to give up that easily?

He put a hand on his knee and leaned down to retrieve his pistol.

"Lights the Storm!" Many Stars' voice floated to him through air heavy with the smoke and the sharp tang of saltpeter. Storm looked up to see his friend loping towards him. The scout stopped, eyes flicking over him in a appraisal.

"Many Stars," Storm said, gesturing at the older man's bloody hand. "You hurt?"

Many Stars gave his hand a disinterested glance and drew his fingers across his face, leaving a dark smear of blood on his cheek. He gave Storm a significant look and shook his head.

Somebody's going to have to go back and explain how he got bloodied by a silver-haired Grandfather. Storm didn't bother to suppress a wry smirk. Although if he knew Many Stars the way I do, he wouldn't be ashamed. He shook himself off, flexing his shoulder and wincing. "Did we lose anyone?"

"I don't think we did," Many Stars said, heading for the cabin. Storm fell into step beside him. "Couple men hurt. Couple of them hurt, too."

"It was Red Horn," Storm said. "I fought him."

Many Stars turned to look at him, but said nothing. Anyone but Storm would have missed the faint glimmer of a satisfied smile twitching in the old man's cheek.

Storm went on. "He broke off and ran. I was surprised he gave up as easily as he did."

"He didn't expect us," Many Stars said. "He thought he'd have an easy time of it. He wasn't looking for a fight. He was looking for a massacre. You were right, you know."

Storm turned his head and looked at him as they walked. "About what?"

"A few of them were Snakes. Most weren't." They'd reached the cabin, and Many Stars hauled open the door. Inside, they could hear Scarcliff's voice barking orders. Many Stars paused in the doorway and spoke over his shoulder. "Most of them were white."

Thanks for reading! If you are enjoying this story, please let me know by giving me a star or a comment! I appreciate your support!