Chapter 1

Silence descended upon the town, as people looked out from their hiding places. As the gun smoke and dust cleared they could see a lone figure standing in the middle of the street. Six men lay on the ground at his feet. The man looked indifferently at the bodies as he punched the empty shells from his guns and refilled the chambers. Then he deftly spun the twin colts back into their holsters. He adjusted the black flat-crowned hat on his head and walked over to his horse, a fine black stallion.

To the townsfolk, the long black duster over his black shirt and jeans gave the man a sinister look. His sharp blue-green eyes, which regarded his surroundings with a cold indifference, only enhanced their fear. There was no doubt that he was a handsome man, at six feet tall with broad shoulders and thick black hair he was quite striking, but his good looks only added to the fear. When he moved, it was with a relaxed ease that reminded people of a big cat. On more than one occasion he had been called a devil or demon.

It was a good twenty minutes after the man had gathered the reins to his grulla pack horse and rode out of town before anyone came out of their hiding places. Once crowded in the street the townsfolk looked at the bodies, and then in the direction he had gone. All were thinking the same thoughts. Kris Ryan was not human; he was a devil from hell.

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The town of Eagle Bend sat on the banks of a bend in Eagle Creek. The creek ran through the middle of the town, a hardy wooden bridge connected the two halves of Main Street. On the north bank sat the jail, doctor’s office, the Eagle Bend Chronicle, the Eagle Creek Saloon, a Mexican café, Perkins Emporium, the Eagle’s Nest Hotel, a restaurant, stage depot, church, the bank, and a scattering of houses. The southern half of town contained a livery stable, blacksmith’s shop, a boarding house, the barber/undertaker’s shop, several more saloons, another restaurant, and on a hill outside, the town cemetery.

Kris Ryan rode into Eagle Bend in the early afternoon on a tall black stallion, leading a grulla packhorse. Both horses and rider were covered in dust and sweat. The man sagged with weariness in the saddle and the black lacked the usual spring to his step. The grulla, an ornery mustang, plodded obediently behind the black, too tired for his normal mischief. At age 29, Ryan was a man used to hard trails but after over a week of hard riding over rough country he was nearly stove in.

Ryan stopped his mount in front of Perkins Emporium, stepped down from the saddle and tied the reins of both horses to the rail. He took off his hat and slapped it against his chaps to rid them of some of the dust, then ran a hand through his thick black hair. He needed a bath and a shave, he thought as he rubbed the week’s worth of beard on his jaw. Ryan stepped onto the boardwalk and then into the store, the clerk was helping an elderly woman at the counter so Ryan proceeded to the shelves of shirts on the left wall. He picked out three, a black, a dark blue, and a dark red. He half-listened to the conversation at the counter, out of habit for gathering any useful information about an area.

“Thank you, Hannah,” the customer said. “That’s everything.”

“You’re welcome, Emily. I’ll see you in church Sunday,” replied the clerk.

Hearing the women say their goodbyes, Ryan made his way to the counter. He noted that the clerk, Hannah, was a pretty blonde with hazel eyes, probably in her late twenties.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she said as she filed the receipt from the last customer. After a few moments she turned back to face him. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Ryan placed the shirts on the counter and then handed her his list of supplies. The clerk glanced over the list and nodded.

“This will take a while to fill, I’ll have to wait for my father to return for some of it,” she said.

“That’s fine, ma’am. I’ll be in town for a couple of days and I’d like to pick it up when I leave. I’ll take the shirts and the cartridges now though,” Ryan replied.

“Of course, how many boxes and what caliber?”

“Two boxes of .45s and one of .44s for the Winchester.”

The clerk gathered up the purchases, wrapping them in paper, glancing for the first time at Ryan’s guns as she did so.

“The total comes to $10,” she said, with a slightly less friendly manner, Ryan noted. “If I may inquire, sir?” she continued as he turned for the door.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Are you planning on staying?” she asked, gesturing at the list. “Or perhaps heading for Bannon’s Hole?” Ryan noted the disgust in her voice at name Bannon’s Hole, and returned her disapproving gaze with an icy glare of his own.

“I reckon that ain’t none of your business, ma’am.” His cold voice and frozen eyes caused the woman to experience a visible chill. “Good day, Hannah,” he finished with a sardonic smile that failed to reach the arctic eyes.

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Hannah Carson watched the tall stranger leave the store, her knees quaking from the coldness of his stare. Another outlaw, she thought hopelessly. They’ll keep coming as long as Bannon’s Hole remains law free. Bannon’s Hole was an outlaw town located in the mountains above Eagle Bend. It had been founded by a clever, black-hearted man named Price Bannon. The outlaw knew a sweet setup when he saw one. Bannon’s Hole sprung up from the remains of mining town with only one obvious entrance that could be easily watched and held. Outlaws swarmed in, and Eagle Bend, being far from outside law, had fallen prey to their whims. Bannon was smart enough to keep the outlaws mostly in check so that Eagle Bend continued to operate and provide them with supplies but every once in a while things got out of hand. Like the night Ted had been killed. And things had been getting worse since that night. Now this stranger arrived.

Hannah had seen her share of bad men, especially living in Eagle Bend, but never had she seen eyes so cold or full of death. It was not exactly fear that made her tremble so much as a weakness, as though those blue-green pools that were so empty of life had sucked her own away. She followed him cautiously to the door and watched as he walked over to a huge black stallion and grulla pack horse. He stowed the packages in the pack saddle and untied the reins. He was about to head across the street when a group of men came thundering through town at a full gallop.

The townspeople struggled to get out of the way as the men left overturned carts and loose horses in their wake. A woman screamed; there was a boy frozen in the street. Hannah watched in horror, recognizing the boy as Sam Tanner. Jenny Tanner screamed again but the men refused to slow their mounts, they were going to run over the boy. There was no way anyone could stop it, but that didn’t stop the stranger.

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Aquilus was moving before Kris heard the women scream. Ryan felt the stallion begin to run and jumped aboard, dropping the grulla’s reins. He heard the thunder of hooves behind him as he spotted the boy at the end of the street. The men’s mounts were at a full run when Ryan’s horse started from a walk, only 200 feet ahead of them, in the two seconds it took them to cover the ground, the stallion had stretched to a gallop. Lying flat across his horses’ neck Ryan reached down and snatched the terror-stricken boy nearly from under the hooves of the horses coming up behind him. The men went by in a thundering rush as Aquilus came to a halt next to the bridge, the boy safely clutched in Ryan’s arms.

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Hannah squeezed her eyes shut on what she was sure were Sam Tanner’s last moments. Silence greeted her ears when the thunder of hooves had died. She opened her eyes, expecting to see a broken body of a little boy. Her mouth dropped open in surprise when she found the boy safe and sound, on the back a great black horse. The silence attested that the rest of the town was just as surprised by the stranger’s action. No one moved except Jenny Tanner, who ran down the street to take the boy from the stranger’s arms.

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Ryan watched warily as the town was engulfed in silence. Every pair of eyes in the street were on him. So much for laying low, he thought. A sobbing brunette woman ran over to him, the boy’s mother he guessed.

“Thank you! Thank you! God Bless you! Thank you!” she sobbed, half- hysterical.

“Your welcome, ma’am,” Ryan replied as she reached the stallion’s side, not sure what else to say. He looked down at the boy, who was clutching Ryan’s arm in a death grip with his eyes still squeezed shut. “It’s over now, son, you can let go. I won’t drop you.” He smiled slightly when the boy opened his eyes slowly but didn’t relax his grip on his savior’s arm. The boy’s mother cleared her throat as she got herself back under control, but seeing the tight hold her son had on the strong arm that encircled him, she did not immediately move to take him down. Instead she smiled up at the stranger, noticing his handsome features were offset by cold eyes that warmed slightly as they rested on her son.

“I’m Jenny Tanner; I live outside of town with my husband. Thank you for saving Samuel, if there is anyway I can repay you, please let me know, Mister…?”

“Kris, my name is Kris. And I might have an idea or two. Can you cook?”

“Oh yes!” Jenny replied with a smile. “Samuel, I think it would be best if you let Mr. Kris continue about his business,” she continued, holding out her arms to her son.

The boy nodded, reluctantly letting go of Ryan’s arm as he was handed to his mother. Ryan tipped his hat to the pair and turned Aquilus to pick up the grulla. He noticed that the men who had nearly run over the boy were standing outside the saloon watching him, but continued on as though he was unaware of their scrutiny. He was about to pass them on his way to the stable when the apparent leader stepped off the boardwalk, flanked by two others.

The leader was young and tall, with the lithe build of a range rider but without the ruggedness that accompanied that occupation. His face was red and his grey eyes flared with anger, a clear indication of his short temper. Ryan pulled up his mount when the young man hailed him.

“Hey you!”

“That’s not a particularly civil way to address your elders, son” Ryan said softly. “But then I doubt you’ve ever learned any manners being raised by wolves.”

“What the hell do mean by that?” growled the stranger.

“Exactly what I said,” Ryan replied as he glanced over the boy’s backup. The boy was getting on his nerves and people who got on Kris Ryan’s nerves didn’t tend to live long.

“Think you’re smart do you! Well, you’d better get something straight almighty fast. Nobody crosses me and lives long, and everyone ‘round these parts knows it!”

“Thanks for the warning. Now I’m gonna give you some advice; ride slower down a busy street at midday, son. Next time I might not be here to get the little kids out of the way.”

“Do you have any idea who I am? How dare you talk to me this way!” the young man blew up. Ryan noted that the entire town was watching tensely, obviously the boy was important in some way.

“I don’t know, and I reckon that I don’t really care.”

“I’m Ray Bannon! Who the hell are you?”

Kris regarded the boy with a cold stare. So this was Price Bannon’s son, the terrifying prince of Bannon’s Hole.

“My name’s Ryan, boy,” Kris’ eyes went dead, his voice took on a sharp edge with his words. His face was a cold mask, except for the faint sneer as he spat the word “boy”. As he spoke he dropped the reins and stepped away from his horse, towards Ray Bannon. Every inch of Ryan screamed predator, eager for the kill. The rapid change in demeanor and the name Ryan sent Bannon and his flunkies back-pedaling, literally. One of the henchmen backed up so fast he hit the boardwalk and fell flat on his back. He scrambled up, embarrassment warring with terror on his features.

“Ryan?” Ray Bannon choked out. The speed with which his hands spread away from his guns was almost comical.

“What’s the matter? You’re not afraid are you, boy?” Ryan hissed, taking another step forward, eyes glinting dangerously. “I thought no one crossed you and lived.”

“I’m not afraid! I …” Ray trailed off, at a loss for words. Ryan glided the next couple of steps in an eye blink and grabbed Bannon by his shirt front, lifting him slightly from the ground. With his face mere inches from the boy’s he continued the conversation.

“Don’t lie, boy. I can smell your terror and its written plain on your face for the entire world to see. Too bad, you’re not really worth my time. And I had so wanted to kill you…” Ryan said softly. Then he chuckled darkly, a sardonic sneer spreading across his mouth. “Don’t worry too much about your reputation, boy. Everyone watching is just as terrified of me as you, half of them dove for cover as soon as I mentioned my name…mighty silly of them, after all I only said half of it, I might not have been me at all.” Kris dropped the young man in the dust and turned on his heel. Then he gathered his horses and continued to the stable, leaving a storm of chaos in his wake.