Moonshine Massacre

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The sound of gunfire somewhere ahead of them made the two young men rein their horses to a halt.

“We could always go another way,” Sam August Webster Two Wolves suggested.

“We could,” Matt Bodine agreed with a solemn nod. “But what do you think the chances of that are?”

“Well…slim and none, I’d say.”

A grin suddenly broke across Matt’s ruggedly handsome face. “More like none.”

With an excited whoop, he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and sent the animal leaping forward at a gallop. Sam was right behind him.

They were somewhere in western Kansas. At least, they believed they had crossed the Colorado border, but it was hard to be sure out here on these rolling plains. The terrain was mostly flat, with a few low hills and ridges scattered here and there. The gunshots that boomed flatly through the warm air came from the other side of one of those ridges.

Matt and Sam rode with the grace and skill of men who had learned to ride before they learned to walk. Both had been born and raised in Montana—Matt the son of a successful rancher, Sam the son of a Cheyenne warrior and the beautiful white teacher that Medicine Horse had met when he was sent back East to school. They had been best friends and blood brothers since childhood, having gone through the ritual that made them onihomihan, or brothers of the wolf. Those who knew their reputation knew them to be brothers of the gun as well…

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