Mean Pete--Head Honcho of Mean Pete Publishing

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

New Lou Prophet, Bounty Hunter Novel Now Available at Amazon


MOUNT UP AND RIDE THE WILD TRAILS WITH THE MOST COLORFUL PAIR OF BOUNTY HUNTERS...AND LOVERS...THE FRONTIER HAS EVER SEEN

After a hot night in Spanish Gulch, Lou Prophet and Louisa Bonaventure, aka the Vengeance Queen, split up to follow a gang of kill-crazy cutthroats who have also split up as they journey through the Spanish Mountains of southern Arizona, heading toward Mexico. While Prophet shares the trail with one of the captured killers, Jack Flood and his daughter Nancy, as well as a wet-behind-the-ears cavalry lieutenant, Louisa finds herself on foot and without a gun, having become the killers' prey.

Prophet’s trail isn’t so easy, either. The ex-Confederate bounty man finds himself stalked by a notorious border bandito who doesn’t care one bit for the gringo bounty hunter--especially after Prophet cheated him at cards and killed his partner in a Juarez brothel. Enrique Granados wants Prophet’s valuable prisoner and the prisoner’s lovely daughter as sweet justice, and Prophet’s head on a stick for his own satisfaction!

First few paragraphs:

“Hey, Prophet—you know what’s even uglier than you are?” bellowed the outlaw, Kinch Broadwell, from a stony escarpment high above the bounty hunter, Lou Prophet, who was hunting him.
“No,” Prophet shouted, standing at the base of the scarp, staring up toward where Broadwell hid in the rocks. “What’s that, Kinch? Pray tell!”
“This here!”
Something streaked down past Prophet’s shoulder and landed with a heavy thump about six feet out from where the bounty hunter stood with his back to the scarp, squeezing his Winchester ’73 in both his gloved hands.
Dust wafted.
A sour stench filled the air as well as Prophet’s nostrils. He blinked against the dust and then looked down in disgust at what appeared to be a dead javelina.
Half of a dead javelina, make that.
Something had consumed the beast’s hindquarters and part of its trunk, leaving a ragged, bloody, fly-encrusted bit of jagged spine trailing out from behind its front legs, like a tail of some horrible sort. The ugly head tufted with coarse black bristles, jaws studded with razor-edged tusks resembling a raptor’s oversized talons, grimaced up at the bounty hunter, its dark eyes leering and somehow menacing. Prophet was suddenly having trouble keeping his breakfast down, though it had been a sparse one of three-day-old baking powder biscuits and coffee reheated from the night before.
He sidestepped away from the beast, turning his head and drawing in deep draughts of the dry, Arizona breeze still lightly perfumed from an earlier morning rain.
Above him, Kinch Broadwell howled with laughter.