Skye Murphy, Texian Deep Flows the Course of Destiny by Gutherie Hodges A Preview

Twelve men dressed in business suits sat smiling and talking about the political situation in New Orleans while they sipped imported brandy from snifters fit for a king. Smoke from their expensive cigars curled lazily upward toward the vaulted ceiling with its golden scroll accents and elaborate crystal chandelier. Its tall candles burned softly to dispel the gloom of a cloudy day.
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Skye had been told that the array of pirate loot would be extensive, but nothing could have prepared him for the magnificence and volume of items stored in the warehouse. The display was a feast for the eyes, and the building was redolent of the pleasant and intriguing odors of exotic woods and spices, of fabrics and foodstuffs. Ornate furniture, clothing and bolts of assorted cloth.
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Two days later the crew from the Buena Esperanza had their money in hand, and the ship was packed with cargo bought in New Orleans going back to Argentina.
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"On that last trip into Texas we made a kind of fort beside the mustang pens that we built up country a good distance north of the town of Nacogdoches," Roebuck told him. "But the Spanish army attacked one morning early and overwhelmed us. They killed Nolan and took prisoner all of us who survived the attack."
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When Skye said that he wanted to leave his job with Broussard so he could hunt wild cattle in Texas the fat old Frenchman applauded his explanation that it was to help relieve the famine up north.
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It was after dark before Father Flores hailed the camp. He waited until the men recognized them to ride in. That caution told Skye that the priest knew even the Mexicans he had working for him expected trouble in this part of the country.
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The sight of fire running at them sent that bunch of cattle and all the others nearby racing into the night. To add impetus to their flight the three men screamed like panthers.
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Skye heard El Lobo behind him give a kind of snarl and spun around in time to see him lunge toward Skye with a knife in his hand. Automatically Skye snatched out the small set of bolos he kept tucked in his belt.
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The side curtain of the carriage was opened and a woman's voice answered him. "You don't know me, monsieur, but we come from a friend of yours who is waiting with a message for you. At your boarding house they told us you were probably eating in this restaurant. We would not dare drive on these streets at night, but we must get you there quickly because your friend can stay only a short time. If you three would be so kind as to get into the carriage we will take you to talk to him."
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During the night a noise of horses squealing and fighting and running waked them up. When the men all jumped up and ran toward the noise they saw by the dim light of a quarter moon that the horses they had left staked out on the grass had pulled up their stakes and were running through the brush being chased by a big black horse.
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With a stick Grey Wolf indicated the largest pile of rocks. "Big horses. Long heads. Toward rising sun from canyon where bear bite you."

Trehurst grunted. "Indians never forget! Wish you wouldn't always bring that up."

Grey Wolf grinned. "Bear never forget his friend Trehurst. Best horses here." He picked up a red colored rock and put it on top of a pile of white rocks. "New country. More close to green water."
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Up there he could feel the wind blowing stronger than it had when he rode in the canyon below. He pulled up to listen. Almost it seemed as though the wind were making music as it passed through the Joshua tree leaves and the liveoaks. He stared off into the hazy depths below listening to the strange sound.

"That can't be the wind," he muttered to himself. "It's too much like a song."
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Just as they slid off the horses an Indian came in sight racing around the corner of the building almost upon them. Skye threw himself across in front of the Comanche's horse and slipped to the offside, grabbing the brave who was hanging there.
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The wait was not a long one. A bunch of dark riders showed up in the moonlight moving quietly. Skye tried to count them. Maybe twenty. Not Indians.

When they drew almost even with the mustangers Skye called out in a thundering voice, "Stop where you are and drop your guns! We have you covered!"
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He sat down in the chair Skye had pulled out. He lowered his voice. "What I have to tell you is very serious. It could result in death for your uncle and you if the Spaniards hear of it. Death for me also, but that would not matter so much."
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He gave a wild kind of laugh and made a sweeping gesture. "That's Devil's Sinkhole!"

In the middle of a very large flat rock was an enormous black hole. Peering from a good distance back they could see that it was as black as Hades and deep enough to be the entrance to the Underworld. Tomas walked up the very edge of the black circle of empty nothingness.

They all looked at each other. "He is crazy!" Jeremy muttered.