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  When Chet Ballard visits an old friend, Ben Colter, in New Mexico, he finds Colter’s ranch burned to the ground, Ben and his wife Rachel missing, and the Apache who worked for Colter badly wounded. It turns out that whoever hit the ranch did so in order to kidnap Rachel. But why?

  While McCall goes in search of Colter, Ballard finds his own trail being dogged by vicious bounty hunters and an Apache on a blood hunt.

  Along the way Colter begins to understand why his wife has been taken. It also reveals the desire of a ghost from the past to get his hands on a treasure that has lain hidden for years – a cache that only Ben Colter knows how to locate.

  As all the different characters make their desperate attempts to gain what they seek, Ballard and McCall can only help Ben locate and save his missing wife in the bullet-riddled finale of Colter’s Quest.

  BALLARD and McCALL 4: COLTER’S QUEST

  By Neil Hunter

  Copyright © 2016 by Neil Hunter

  First Smashwords Edition: September 2016

  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. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  Prologue

  Only the brittle scratching of the quill moving across the parchment broke the silence of the canyon. Tiny dust motes danced within the shimmering waves of heat, dipping and rising on gentle air currents.

  High above the solid walls of ochre colored stone hung a strip of blue-washed sky. Empty. Cloudless.

  The scratching ceased. The quill paused as the writer’s train of thought wandered, returning the canyon to total silence once again.

  And then…

  ‘God save me from this terrible place!’

  ~*~

  1622…

  Father Ignacio Corozon, alone and starving, lost somewhere within the mountain fastness that would one day become New Mexico, was writing his final thoughts in his journal. Soon after, he hoped to make an attempt to walk out of the desolate mountains and seek help. He and his party had drifted north out of Mexico for more than three weeks, plagued by storms and sickness, and as the survivors hid the treasure they had taken for the glory of Spain, they all knew they would die here in this empty land.

  Corozon, the last man, wrote what would become his epitaph. He would never be seen alive again. He would die before he could leave the cave where he lay sick and would become, as had other members of his expedition, lost and abandoned. He would never look upon another human face, nor ever see again his beloved Spain. And the fortune in gold and silver that he and his party were transporting would become another of the legends of the Southwest.

  Until one day in 1842 when a man named Josiah Colter stumbled across the cave where Corozon had concealed it before setting out on his abortive trek.

  The hoard had remained untouched over the decades. Lost to the world until Josiah Colter discovered it…and unwittingly set in motion the chain of events that would eventually involve his grandson, Ben Colter, and through their association with Colter, Chet Ballard and Jess McCall.

  Colter Ranch—New Mexico Territory—1888

  They saw the smoke a half mile from the spread. Easing around in his saddle, Jess McCall saw the expression on his partner’s face.

  ‘Doesn’t look good, son,’ he said.

  ‘Damn right it doesn’t,’ Chet Ballard replied, and heeled his horse into motion.

  With McCall close behind, Ballard pushed his horse along the downslope that brought the Colter spread into view. The house, stable and barn were burned to the ground. Charred ruins still issued some smoke. As Ballard rode across the yard he saw a sprawled figure and angled his horse towards it. He had recognized the man straight off.

  It was Chey, the Chiricahua Apache who worked alongside Ben Colter. Ballard stepped from the saddle and crouched beside the still figure lying on his side. When he turned Chey over he saw the blood that marked the man’s shirt. There was more blood, already drying, that had streamed down Chey’s brown face from the deep wound that had split the side of his head. The Apache’s eyes flickered open and he stared up at Ballard. Recognition took a few moments.

  ‘Ballard … schichobe …’

  ‘You rest easy now.’

  A brown hand caught hold of Ballard’s shirt.

  ‘They took her … Colter’s woman ...’

  ‘Rachel?’

  Chey’s head moved in a nod. ‘Many of them. Pinda Lickoyi. They put the house to the torch. Scattered Colter’s horses … I would have stopped them but … too many … Ballard …’

  ‘Where’s Colter?’

  ‘He went to deliver horses he had broken … should be back later today …’

  ‘Quite a bunch was here,’ McCall said from behind his partner. ‘Six. Maybe more. Hard to tell. But I can see where they rode out. Direction they took.’

  ‘They say why?’ Ballard asked.

  Chey didn’t answer. He had lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Ballard’s mind was full of confused thoughts as to what needed doing. He pushed to his feet, glancing around at the devastation. Made his choice.

  ‘Jess, go see if you can find one of the stray horses.’

  McCall swung his mount around and spurred it across the yard, picking up the hoof prints left by the horses that had been driven from the open corral.

  Taking his canteen from the saddle and a cloth from his saddlebags Ballard returned to where Chey lay and cleaned blood from the young Apache’s face. When he checked the wounds in Chey’s body he found a pair of bullet holes. Blood had crusted around the puckered wounds. It told Ballard the Apache had been shot some hours earlier. It also meant the raiders had been gone for a good while.

  He walked and studied the mass of tracks that led away from the spread, heading across country.

  Who were the raiders? Where were they going?

  Most importantly why had they taken Rachel Colter with them?

  Less than a half hour later McCall returned with a single mustang on his rope. He dismounted and stood next to Ballard.

  ‘What’re you thinking?’

  ‘That Ben is going to come back to this and then head straight out after that bunch.’

  McCall tipped his hat back. ‘Hell of a homecoming.’

  Ballard agreed. He made a decision.

  ‘Jess, I want you to wait for Ben. Tell him what happened. Stay with him whatever he decides.’

  ‘I guess you’ll be taking Chey home?’

  ‘He deserves to be with his people. Little enough we can do for him here. Way he’s been hurt I’d be surprised if he lasts more than a couple hours. I’ll catch up with you and Ben later.’

  ~*~

  After his partner had ridden out with Chey, Jess McCall checked his guns. It was a wise thing to do as far as he was concerned. No time to learn that something was wrong just when a man needed his weapons. According to Ballard, Ben Colter would be coming in from the east, so McCall decided to ride in that direction and hope to meet the man sooner rather than later.

  He spotted the lone rider a few miles out and eased his horse over to meet him. Colter fit the description Ballard had given his partner. He also recognized the man’s wary watch as McCall rode up. The Texan ke
pt his hands in plain sight, away from his sides.

  ‘Chet told me you were not the kind to let a man creep up on you.’

  Ben Colter tall, broad across the shoulders, his fair hair thick and brushing his collar. He had well-defined features, his tanned face curious as he studied McCall through gray-blue eyes. His range clothing was dusty from his ride. Around his lean waist he wore a gunbelt, the holster carrying a wood butted Peacemaker.

  ‘Should I know you?’

  ‘Jess McCall. Me and Chet been partnered for some time now. We were up in this neck of the woods and he said it was time he dropped by to say howdy.’

  ‘Chet Ballard?’

  ‘The same. Colter, things have happened while you been away, and there’s no easy way to tell it.’

  The lines of Colter’s face hardened as he caught sight of the smoke drifting over McCall’s shoulder.

  ‘That coming from my place?’

  McCall nodded. He got no more chance to speak as Colter gigged his horse into motion, pushing it hard as he circled by the Texan and put the horse to a gallop. McCall turned his own horse around and fell in behind Colter.

  ‘That went well,’ he said.

  Colter was on foot, moving around the area, by the time McCall drew rein and climbed from his own saddle. When he became aware of McCall he turned about and confronted the Texan.

  ‘Where’s my wife? Where the hell is she? And Chey?’

  ‘Place was like this when we showed up,’ McCall said. ‘The Apache was bad hurt. Been shot and clubbed around the head. He managed to tell us a bunch of riders came in. Maybe five, six of them. Wasn’t sure. They shot him. Scattered the horses in the corral and put your place to the torch. When they left they took your wife with them…’

  Colter fixed McCall with a hard look. ‘They hurt Rachel?’

  ‘Far as we could figure they just took her away.’

  ‘Chey recognize any of them?’

  ‘He wasn’t in a fit state to say a deal. He told us nothing about the riders, or what they wanted. Just that they took your missus.’

  ‘I have to talk to him. Where is Chey?’

  ‘Chet is riding back to Chey’s home ground. Said he felt obliged to take him back. Colter—Ben—the Apache was in a bad way. Chet didn’t expect him to live out the ride.’

  Colter stared around him at the wreckage of his home.

  ‘If I’d been here…’

  ‘Not likely you would have been able to do a deal.’

  Colter made for his horse. ‘Party that big is going to leave a wide trail. I’ll find them.’ When McCall mounted and fell in alongside, he asked, ‘Where you going?’

  ‘With you, son. I got my orders. Chet will catch up later.’

  ‘This isn’t your fight.’

  ‘It looks as if it is now. You figure we’d ride off and leave you to deal with it on your own? And not with a lady in trouble. Anyhow with Chet and me along it kind of reduces the odds. Now we going to talk all day or get her done?’

  ~*~

  The lookouts had seen him long before he reached the rancheria. News of his imminent arrival was known throughout the encampment even as Chet Ballard rode down through the rocky canyon and across the sun bright slope that overlooked the Apache stronghold.

  Drawing rein Ballard took a few moments to study the untidy sprawl of wickiups. Fire pits issued misty spirals of smoke into the pale sky. On the far side of the camp a makeshift corral held a restless bunch of wiry ponies. Ballard’s own horse picked up their scent, lifting its head, ears stiffening. Tightening the reins Ballard held the chestnut back. He stroked its neck, speaking to it quietly. Turning in the saddle Ballard took a final look at the blanket wrapped form tied across the back of the pack-mule he was leading. Chey had died a few hours back, never once regaining consciousness.

  ‘Damn it all to hell,’ he muttered sourly.

  Touching his heels against the chestnut’s sides he moved on across the slope, angling down to the basin floor. Picking his way through the camp he came under the watchful gaze of the occupants, exchanging greetings with those he knew. Some he now called friends had been enemies in a different time.

  Nearing Nante’s wickiup Ballard saw the old warrior waiting for him. Nante’s seamed brown face was impassive as he stared beyond Ballard to the mustang carrying its motionless burden.

  Ballard leaned forward in the saddle, easing his stiff body off the leather.

  ‘It has been a time since you came to visit us, schichobe,’ Nante said.

  ‘I wish I was bringing better news.’

  Nante’s bony shoulders sagged briefly.

  ‘Chey?’

  Ballard nodded. ‘He has the right to be buried by his own people.’

  Nante crossed to the horse, laying a weathered hand on the blanket-wrapped form.

  ‘Did he die well?’

  ‘The sign spoke of a fight,’ Ballard said. ‘Six, maybe more, raiders struck Colter’s ranch. They burned the house and scattered all the ponies in the corral. Chey was wounded fighting them. He told me this after I found him. He spoke of how they came and took Colter’s wife with them when they left. I was bringing him back but he passed on the ride.’

  ‘The red-haired one?’ Nante turned from the horse. ‘Aiiee, Ballard, they will know they have her. I remember the hair and the fire in her eyes.’

  Ballard dismounted and stamped around, loosening the knot of muscles in his legs.

  ‘And what of Colter?’ Nante asked.

  ‘No sign he’s been at the ranch since it happened. My partner is looking for him as we speak. Colter will want to follow the men who did this.’

  ‘Then it is for you to make certain these killers pay for what they have done. Schichobe, you have been good to The People.’

  ‘And they to me. I have not forgotten what you taught me.’

  The Apache way. Blood for blood.

  Nante beckoned to some of his people. He spoke and a number of the Apache freed the ropes and removed the body of Chey from the mule’s back. Nante watched as Chey was carried away to a place where the women would prepare him for burial.

  ‘Nante, I would have stayed to see him put to rest,’ Ballard said, ‘but I need to pick up the trail Colter and my partner will leave.’

  The Apache nodded. ‘You have a good heart, Ballard, and you will be with Chey in spirit.’

  Ballard took time to loosen the chestnut’s saddle. He led the horse across the dusty basin to the clear, icy stream that meandered from north to south. Letting the chestnut drink Ballard hunkered down on his heels and scooped up cold water to splash over his face. It felt good against his taut, sun-browned skin.

  Beside him Nante squatted in the dust, tracing lines across the earth with the tips of his stubby fingers.

  ‘These raiders, Ballard? Who are they?’

  ‘Chey said they were Pinda Lickoyi. Not Apache,’ Ballard said. ‘Been thinking about them all the way up here. Can’t figure who they might be. Whole thing just doesn’t add up.’

  Nante listened without interruption.

  ‘I checked the house. They burned it out but didn’t loot it. If they were scavengers they missed out on a lot.’

  ‘Then they were fools—or they want Colter to follow them.’

  ‘That was the way I read it. A blind man could pick up their trail. They didn’t try to cover it.’

  ‘Then follow them, Ballard, but not as a blind man. If they are expecting to be trailed make certain to gain the advantage. And ask yourself why they want Colter.’

  Straightening up Ballard scrubbed wet hands over his face.

  ‘Damned if I can figure that one either.’

  ‘An old enemy seeking revenge?’

  ‘The ones likely to hold a grudge against him are the kind who use a bullet in the back.’

  ‘So?’ Nante asked.

  ‘So it’s someone who needs something from him. They kill Chey and destroy his house to show they mean business. Taking his wife guarantees Colter wi
ll go after them.’

  Ballard busied himself with tightening his saddle, inspecting the chestnut before he mounted up.

  ‘Nante, I wanted to tell Tula about Chey. Where is he?’

  The old Apache made a sweeping gesture.

  ‘Quién sabe? Tula comes and goes his own way, as always. He is out hunting somewhere beyond the rim. He stays away as much as he can now he carries a price on his head.’

  Colter picked up the reins and hauled himself into the saddle.

  ‘Go, Ballard,’ Nante said. ‘Find these murderers. Bring back Colter and his woman. I will tell Tula.’

  ‘I’ll leave the spare horse, Nante. I need to move fast.’

  ‘If I was a younger man I would ride with you, Ballard.’

  ‘They won’t go unpunished,’ Ballard promised.

  ‘That I never doubted,’ the Apache said.

  Nante watched Ballard ride out of the camp and vanish in the shadowed cleft of the canyon. Only a thin mist of dust hanging in the air marked his passing. Nante turned as a soft, keening sound broke the stillness of the camp. It was the mother of Chey, mourning the death of her son. Nante sighed. In peace as in war the constant elements still existed. Birth and death. Never far away, and the only equalizing factor between two races. White or brown—all were born and all died under the same sky.

  The old Apache envied Ballard his journey. The Pinda Lickoyi at least had purpose in his life. Something to add to the dawning of each day. There had been a time when Nante’s own existence was spiced with such danger. Those were the times when a man felt the rush of blood through his veins. Felt the hurried beat of his heart. Raising his eyes to the clear sky above the crags of the high mountains Nante allowed his thoughts to drift back through the years. To the time when he had been a young warrior himself. A time before the Pinda Lickoyi had shown their faces. Then the Apache had been master in his own land. From the high slopes of the Mogollon Rim to the parched deserts of the southwest. When he had been young, with the others of his tribe, Nante had wandered the Gila River’s course, breathing in the sweet air sent by Usen, the God of the Apache. He had watched the sunrise send its golden light across the lofty peaks and down into the canyons and gorges, streaking the earth with brilliance. At day’s end his eyes had seen the wonder of Usen’s sunsets dappling the land with many hues of color. He had ridden the Apache trails, shaded from the hot sun by the gently waving branches of the tall sycamores and cottonwoods, and he had known that when death took him Usen would guide him to a place just like this one.