Mean Pete--Head Honcho of Mean Pete Publishing

Tuesday, October 7, 2014



Mike Sartain’s worst nightmare has come true—he’s captured by the U.S. Cavalry, who has a special bone to pick with him.

Only, he’s not sent to a firing squad. The governor of New Mexico Territory gives him an ultimatum: kill a man in Mexico and retrieve the governor’s kidnapped daughter, or face a court-martial.

Just in case the man known as the Revenger decides to renege on the deal, the governor sends a comely lady Pinkerton to dog his every move and make sure he fulfills his side of the bargain.

Doesn’t the governor know you never, ever send a beautiful woman to Mexico without expecting all manner of trouble?

But the young lady Pinkerton is only a small part of the Revenger’s problems down south of the border…



Wednesday, September 3, 2014


Now available at Amazon and elsewhere:



LET ME TELL YOU, the Territory was wild in those days. Old Arizona! Wilder than a Coyotero with a too-tight breechclout. Ha! Wild—yessir, it had the bark on! This was just after the Little Misunderstanding Between the States. Old Fort Hildebrandt, or Fort Hell, as we all called it who were stationed there—was built in ’57, but during the war, after the soldiers had pulled out to fight the graybacks, the Chiricahuas led by Geronimo himself sacked it. Damn near burned that sweet ole darlin’ to the ground.

After the war, three troops of the Third Cavalry and one of the Fourth Infantry were sent back to rebuild the post there near Apache Pass, west of the New Mexico line, at the junction of Rattlesnake and Apache creeks. Creeks, my ass! Only if you call beds of sand, yucca, and Gila monsters creeks! Don’t ever remember a spoonful of water in either. (I was raised back East, you understand.) Well, it was there between the Dos Cabezas Mountains and the Chiricahua Range, just north of Apache Pass, that we rebuilt that humble little ’dobe town complete with a church and a couple hog pens (whorehouses)! Troops C, D, and H garrisoned her to protect the settlers, miners, prospectors, stagecoach passengers, freighting companies, and the U.S. Mail from them cutthroat Apaches—Chiricahuas, Coyoteros, and MimbreƱos, mostly.
Camp Hell.

An oasis she became in a country drier than a lime burner’s hat! Soldiers, wives and children of soldiers, teamsters, cold-steel artists stock herders, horse breakers, whiskey drummers, prospectors, cardsharps, confidence men, and, by Jehovah, even whores and raggedy-heeled outlaws of every crooked stripe!—they all rubbed shoulders with the cavalry yellowlegs and forted up for a time under them brush ramadas, amongst them tan ’dobe hovels the scorpions and salamanders squiggled around on.

Wild as Apaches, all of ’em. Even some of the women and the children. To go along with an Apache-wild land.

But them contract scouts for the U.S. Cavalry—they was even wilder. Old Gila River Joe, or “the sergeant,” as he was known by the men under him, was chief of scouts only because no one else wanted the job, and he was too much soldier to say no when Colonel Alexander offered! Amongst the scouts were the Aravaipa trackers: Chiquito, Pedro, and One-Eyed Miguel. There was the former grayback and plantation owner, Seth Barksdale, and the half-breed, Yakima Henry. Ah, how well I remember young Henry. This was before he went on to become a legend of sorts. Or, maybe it was back at ole Fort Hell that Yakima Henry’s legend really began.

Truth be told—an’ I’m here to tell it, by God!—a whole lot of legends started at Fort Hell!

—from Memories of Old Fort Hildebrandt by Sergeant William “Blinky Bill” Everwine, Quartermaster, Fort Hildebrandt, Arizona Territory, 1868–1876


Thursday, August 28, 2014


Coming for Labor Day Weekend!

“A killer with a heart,” Sabina said softly, speculatively. “How odd.”
“I’m not a cold-blooded killer, Miss La Corte. I kill for a reason.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Sartain. Word is going around. You’re the one they call the Revenger. Wanted in nearly every territory on the frontier. You killed many soldiers because they killed your woman and unborn child, and now you kill for others who cannot kill for themselves. How odd that after all your killing you still have a heart.”
Sartain only shrugged.
“Or maybe you really don’t. Maybe you only wish to believe you do, because you don’t wish to believe you’re as bad as the men you kill. You somehow hold yourself above reproach because you have a conscience. You believe you’re somehow better than the men you hunt.”
The Mexican beauty shook her head slowly, holding his gaze with a hard one of her own. “But you aren’t. You can’t be. Otherwise you would hang up that big pistol of yours. What’s more, you would ride out of here because a woman asked you to, because she doesn’t want anymore of the innocent citizens of her town killed by you or by the men you are here to kill.”
Sartain picked up his shot glass. His hand was shaking. Brandy sloshed over the rim and onto the table.
He threw back the rest of the liquor and then, feeling as though his heart were fairly exploding with rage and frustration, he flung the glass against the door. It thudded with the sound of a pistol shot and shattered.
Sabina gave a clipped yell and lowered her head, raising her hands to her ears. She swept her hair back from her eyes and stared up at him. Trembling, Sartain stood and walked around the table to her. He drew her up by her shoulders.
Beneath his rage, passion thundered. It pierced his loins like the blade of a dull bayonet.
She stared at him fearfully in the lamplight. Her ripe upper lip trembled slightly. He placed his hands on her cheeks. She shook her head violently. “No!
Sartain released her. She stumbled back against the wall, kicking her chair. She leaned there, half falling against the wall, hands splayed against it on either side of her, staring at him like a deer knowing that a hunter’s sites were lined up on her.
She glanced down at his crotch. Her eyes widened. Her tongue flicked against her upper lip. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead.
“Oh, god,” she whispered. “Oh, god, forgive me!”
She pushed herself off the wall and into his arms.
He closed his mouth over hers. Her breasts heaved against him. He shoved her back suddenly and with blind passion ripped her blouse off her shoulders. That stunned her. Shocked, she looked down at her exposed breasts, her hair hanging down around her cheeks.
He’d ripped off her blouse as well as her camisole. Both torn garments hung off her shoulders. He himself was stunned by the sudden violence of his passion. He half-expected her to flee.
Instead, she looked up at him, her lips parted. She stepped toward him and placed his hands on the cones of her heaving bosoms.
“Take me,” she whispered.
He swept her up in his arms and threw her onto the bed.

Friday, August 22, 2014

LONNIE GENTRY now available on Kindle for $3.19!

This is a brand-new western and the start of a new series featuring a tough-as-nails, 13-year-old frontiersman, Lonnie Gentry!

Purchase at AMAZON

If you still prefer paper and got some pocket jingle, there's a hardcover edition also, for $21.69.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Three More Titles Coming Soon!

These just in from Mean Pete's Coming Soon Deparment...

The virtual printing presses are smoking and screaming here at Mean Pete Press:

September 1:

October 1:

November 1:

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

New Cuno Massey Tale!


Cuno Massey has been cooling his heels in the little northern New Mexico town of Nopal, trying to give up his gunslinging ways and return to freighting.

But a large gang of cutthroats who call themselves “the Boys” led by the savage killer Cecil Craig run Cuno’s freight wagon off the road and into a canyon, killing his mules and setting the young freighter afoot.

That’s only the start of the desperadoes’ depredations.

They take over Nopal intending to settle up for past grievances by raping all the women and killing all the men before burning the town to the ground.

Their first mistake, however, was not making sure the beefy young freight wagon driver was dead. Because that was not just any young freighter.

Cuno Massey straps on his .45 and takes on the gang...with a little help from some lovely, Winchester-wielding ladies and an old friend...


Cuno fired at a jostling shadow. The outlaw cursed, dropped, tried to heave himself to his feet. Cuno fired, watched in satisfaction as the outlaw went flying backwards and twisting around before landing on his belly.
“Stop!” he cried. “You’ve killed me!”
Cuno walked up to the man, who turned his head to glare up at him, eyes flashing hatefully.
“Not quite.” Cuno drilled a round between his eyes. “There. Now, I killed you.”

Tuesday, July 8, 2014


The first three books in a brand-new, wild-assed western series are now available at


The fourth book--SAVAGE BARRANCA--will be along soon!


Mike Sartain, the Revenger, grew up in the French Quarter of New Orleans where he was taught how to fight by some of the toughest, meanest SOBs in any port. 

He was taught how to love by some of the most beautiful women in the world.

When the War Between the States broke out, the young Cajun lied about his age to join the Confederacy. At war’s end, he came west and joined the frontier cavalry. Wounded by Apaches in Arizona, he was nursed back to health by a gnarly old prospector and his beautiful daughter, Jewel.

When the prospector and Jewel were viciously murdered by marauding Yankee bluecoats, Sartain hunted the soldiers down and killed them one by one in his own fierce Cajun style. Killing the prospector had been bad enough. Killing Jewel had been far worse, for the young beauty had been carrying Sartain’s unborn child.

That’s how Mike Sartain’s lust for revenge got started. That’s how he became a wanted man, with a dead-or-alive price on his head.

Now, with no choice but to keep on riding, the Revenger rides for anyone who has a justifiable ax to grind...