The Man Called Sangre

The breeze felt cool on Ward Madlock's weathered beaten face as his horse and constant companion, Traveler, gently picked his way down the side of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains toward the rich and fertile Spring Creek Valley. Ward Madlock was a cautious man and no stranger to trouble. Once a man started making his way with the colt, trouble seemed always at his side. Now peace was what he looked for, as he gazed down into the Spring Creek Valley below. Just as quickly, six...
More Description

The breeze felt cool on Ward Madlock's weathered beaten face as his horse and constant companion, Traveler, gently picked his way down the side of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains toward the rich and fertile Spring Creek Valley.
Ward Madlock was a cautious man and no stranger to trouble. Once a man started making his way with the colt, trouble seemed always at his side. Now peace was what he looked for, as he gazed down into the Spring Creek Valley below.
Just as quickly, six shots brought him to full alert. The gunfire was not from hunting weapons but from Colts. Knowing such things kept men like him alive. During a battle, gunshots were erratic, but an ambush was rapid and short-lived. Ward knew someone below was in trouble. When he found a young boy lying in the bushes bleeding to death, Matlock's life as he knew it would change forever.
In the empty dining room of the Spring Creek Hotel, Ben Striker anxiously awaited word from the sheriff that they had found the boy. All kinds of thoughts ran through his mind but always ended in a question. The questions kept ringing in his ears. What could have happened to him? Where could he be? Why can't they find the boy? Could someone be hiding him? Could he have crawled off into some hole and died? They must find him. Questions, questions, questions. All he had was questions, but he needed answers, not more questions. All his plans depended on the boy's death. He must see the boy's body.