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Dark Riders
Chapters One, Two and Three
Scott A. Gese
A gripping western tale of justice, and redemption. When a mysterious gang known as the Dark Riders sweeps through the frontier, leaving fear and destruction in their wake, one man dares to stand against them. Fueled by a past he can’t outrun, he saddles up for a perilous journey where the law and dark secrets collide. In a town where friendships have been made and roots planted, he must choose between leaving or fighting for the things he holds dear—before the riders destroy him.
Dark Riders By Scott A. Gese (aka Christopher Scott)
Copyright © 2025
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.
Dark Riders
Chapter One
Their cadence was a steady lope as they moved to meet the rising
sun. The strong smell of sage filled the crisp morning air, and the
sound of pounding hooves echoed off the canyon walls.
A dozen well-armed men sat tall in the saddle, riding massive black stallions. Dust billowed from the rear of a long black carriage as it rolled across the dry desert floor. The riders surrounded it in formation, with six riders two abreast setting the pace at the front. Two riders flanked each side, followed by two more in single file, bringing up the rear. Highly tooled leather saddles creaked under the weight of each man, and their silver spurs glistened in the long rays of the early morning sun. The miles swiftly fell behind them as they advanced across the seemingly endless desert sage.
The carriage driver was highly experienced at handling the six high-strung black stallions that paced the lead escorts. He had to be, for its contents were more precious than the finest silver or purest gold; more beautiful than the sunlit glitter of precious jewels and worth more than money itself. Yet, it was as delicate as a cherry blossom in spring and as sweet as midsummer rain.
The carriage was aptly named the “Black Pearl.” Its cargo was a very young and extraordinarily beautiful woman. She was tall and slender at the hip, with skin as smooth as the silk kerchief draped over her bare shoulders and as clear as polished alabaster. Her raven-black hair hung straight and low upon her back. She was no ordinary woman. Miss Rebecca Alton was much more than that. She was also the mistress of the inglorious Colonel Robert Winslow, the man in charge.
Chester Ramsey and Richard Cole were hired hands working for one of the largest ranches in the territory, the Bar K Bar. On this particular morning, the two were out at dawn, searching for cattle that had strayed from the herd the day before, when they stumbled upon a most intriguing sight. As they sat atop their horses on a ridge overlooking the canyon below, their mounts grew increasingly nervous. The two men watched a coal-black carriage pulled by a team of six black horses, surrounded by riders on all sides, who were also dressed in black and rode coal-black horses. Chester was transfixed as the eerie procession slowly passed by.
“Have you ever seen such a thing?” he asked in amazement. “It looks like a giant black scorpion crawling across the desert floor. It kinda chills me to the bone, you know? What do you make of it, Richard?”
“Dark Riders,” was Richard's terse reply as he continued to watch the formation until it disappeared from view.
“Dark Riders?” Chester questioned. “I’ve never heard of them. I know I’ve never seen anything like that around here before. I wonder where they came from and where they’re going?”
Richard turned toward his companion, a glint of deep concern in his eyes. “Take my word for it, Chester. You don’t want to know the answer to that question. In fact, if you ever see them again, give them as wide a berth as you can. You can bet they saw us, even from way up here. They see everything, they’re aware of everything, and when they’re on the move, they allow nothing to get in their way.”
Richard's ominous warning unsettled Chester, only heightening his curiosity.
“Well, I don’t understand. Just who exactly are these ‘Dark Riders’ anyway?”
“Today, they’re protectors,” Richard stated. “Whatever or whoever is in that carriage, they are safeguarding it. At the moment, that’s their primary mission. When the carriage moves, they move. I will tell you this: protecting that carriage isn’t their only mission; they have many others.”
“Other missions? Like what?”
Richard ignored the inquiry, turned his horse, and began to ride off. “Chester, you ask too many questions. Some things are better left unknown, and this is one of them. Let’s get out of here.”
But Chester, being the inquisitive type, wouldn’t let it go. He was intrigued by the whole ‘Dark Rider’ phenomenon and pushed Richard for more details. It was clear that Richard was holding something back; Chester detected a hint of nervousness in his voice and thought he caught a glimmer of fear in his eyes as they watched the carriage pass by. Stubborn as an old mule, Chester vowed to uncover the truth before the day was out.
Later that afternoon, as they rode alongside each other, Chester decided to broach the subject of the Dark Riders once more.
“Say, Richard, how do you know about these Dark Riders?”
Richard quickly turned toward his companion. Grabbing Chester by the collar, he pulled him in close, almost yanking him off his horse. “I thought I told you to let it go!”
But this only fueled Chester’s stubbornness, prompting him to persist even more.
“You did, but it’s clear they concern you, and I want to know why. Your reaction tells me I’m not mistaken.”
Richard released Chester's shirt. “Sorry, friend, you’re right; I do know more than I’m letting on. But it’s something I don’t want to discuss, and believe me, it’s in your best interest not to know. So, for your own good, I’ll say it one more time: drop the subject… now!”
The two men rode on in silence, continuing their search for lost strays. Toward evening, they shifted their thoughts to finding a place to settle for the night. Coming upon a natural corral, Richard pulled up and dismounted. “This looks like a good spot to make camp. We can pick up where we left off in the morning and move what we’ve found back to the ranch then.”
Once they settled the cattle and unsaddled their horses, they began to make camp. Chester gathered wood for a fire while Richard curried the horses and contemplated whether to share his story with Chester. If he chose to tell him, should he disclose everything, or should he hold back? Before he could answer his own questions, he came to his senses. “Chester’s already in danger just being with me,” he thought. “Revealing more than he needs to know would surely mark him for death. It would be best if I told him nothing at all.”
Chapter Two
Since leaving the Dark Riders, Richard had been trying to bury
many painful memories. Watching them from the ridge that morning
brought everything rushing back, prompting him to reflect on when his
association with the organization first began—and to wish it had
never happened.
He was nineteen at the time, on his own and working for a large ranch not far from his hometown. The War Between the States loomed on the horizon, but the sparks were already flying, and Kansas was the tinderbox. Skirmishes between pro-slavers and abolitionists like him were becoming increasingly frequent.
When Fort Sumter was fired upon, President Lincoln called for military volunteers. Learning that the Union Army was activating a small temporary post in town to accept new recruits, Richard felt compelled by both duty to his country and his moral convictions. He quit his job and volunteered his services.
***
“What’s your name, son?” barked the officer.
“Richard.”
“You got a last name?”
“Cole, Richard Cole.”
“Sign here, Richard Cole, and then go stand over there with the rest of those men.” The officer gestured with a quick sideways jerk of his head toward a group of gangly young men standing in loose formation in front of a smartly dressed officer.
“Get in line, son,” ordered the officer in charge. After a few more new recruits joined the formation, he addressed the men. “My name is Sergeant Winslow. Just so you’re clear, from this moment on, you are now Army property. You will do only what I tell you to do. You will not ask questions; you will only take orders. Do I make myself clear?”
A few of the men responded with half-hearted “yes” or “OK.”
“Here’s another thing I want to make perfectly clear. When addressed by a superior, such as myself, you will respond with a hearty ‘Yes, sir!’ Is that clear?”
This time, the men responded more robustly, shouting in unison, “Yes, sir.”
That was Richard Cole’s first encounter with Sergeant Robert Winslow. He had joined as a three-month volunteer, fully expecting to return home for a few days after signing up to say his goodbyes before heading out. However, the need was urgent, so once he signed the enlistment papers, he and the rest of the men were sent straight to the nearest training facility. There were no opportunities for goodbyes or second thoughts.
Richard already knew how to shoot a rifle, but marching in formation was another matter. Fortunately, he was a fast learner and caught on quickly. Sergeant Winslow took a liking to Richard from the very first day, and over time, as Winslow rose in rank, he ensured Richard wasn’t far behind. When Winslow was reassigned, he made sure Richard was reassigned along with him. By choice, Richard's initial three-month enlistment turned into two years. During that time, Sergeant Winslow was promoted to Major, and Richard was promoted to Lieutenant.
It was late one afternoon on a cold March day when Richard was summoned to Major Winslow’s quarters.
“Lieutenant Cole,” Major Winslow began, “I’ve been reassigned once again. My orders come from the highest levels of our government. I’ve been instructed to organize and lead a new training program, and you, Lieutenant, will accompany me as my first volunteer. This is not a request; it’s an order. You’ll be one of a select few trained to infiltrate enemy lines and gather crucial information. Additionally, you’ll assist in planning strategic missions for this very purpose. This new program is top secret, and you are hereby sworn to secrecy under penalty of death. The name of this new unit will be ‘Dark Riders.’ Our training will commence within the week at an undisclosed location. Until then, be prepared to move out at a moment’s notice.”
As he had been trained, Richard accepted his orders without question. Two days later, he was en route to a secret training facility in a remote northern location.
Major Robert Winslow was soon promoted to the rank of Colonel. He led the unit while training alongside his men. They practiced becoming top sharpshooters, using the finest Sharps breech-loading rifles and the latest Winchester lever-action models. The men learned to draw and shoot Colt .44-caliber revolvers faster and more accurately than anyone they had ever encountered. They trained to throw knives with deadly precision and to fight with bayonet and sword. They mastered hand-to-hand combat techniques from Chinese martial arts and learned tracking methods from Native American practices in the harshest conditions, ensuring they could move undetected. They also became skilled horsemen, learning to handle and ride the largest, most high-strung black stallions they had ever seen.
The training sessions were grueling, lasting twelve hours every single day. They trained in the rain, in the snow, and even when temperatures soared above one hundred degrees. This rigorous routine continued for nearly two years. Over time, all the men in the unit formed a tight bond, becoming like family to one another.
They were in top physical condition and highly trained, ready to serve the Union and eagerly awaiting their first assignment.
Unfortunately for this highly secretive unit, the war was coming to an end too soon. Before the men could be pressed into service, high-ranking military officials determined that the unit was no longer needed, even before it had a chance to prove itself, and it was disbanded before receiving its first orders.
Each member of the unit was sworn to secrecy and dismissed from service. As far as they and the Union Army were concerned, the Dark Riders had never existed.
For the men of the Dark Riders unit, it wasn’t easy to simply walk away from something they had been deeply involved in for so long. They were closer than family, and Colonel Winslow was as much a father to them as any of them had ever had.
In fact, the Colonel himself wasn’t about to give up on his unit just like that. He secretly convinced the men to keep the Dark Riders together despite the army’s orders to disband. He made them swear an oath with their very lives that they would always be true to the unit, and that only death could cause them to leave.
Chapter Three
Over the first few years of their covert existence, the Dark Riders kept busy putting their newly acquired skills to “good” use, making themselves and Colonel Winslow extremely wealthy. Their method was to devise a plan during the light of day and execute it under the cover of night. It didn’t matter to them what they raided; both Northern and Southern institutions were fair game. Nothing was beyond their ability to access. Banks and payroll offices became their favorite targets. The Dark Riders amassed large sums of cash and a hoard of silver and gold from wherever they could find it. Nothing was off-limits. Their stealth-like abilities confounded local law enforcement agencies, as they were never seen and left no clues. The Union Army had taught them well, and no one was the wiser.
As time progressed, Colonel Winslow’s attention gradually shifted from his men to his own interests. As the leader, he was entitled to a larger share of their ill-gotten gains, but his greed began to grow, and he started exploiting the men for his personal benefit. His self-serving "assignments" became more frequent, as he tasked the men with escorting his custom-built carriage and his beautiful, indulgent mistress around the countryside. Several men grew weary of this direction, and the once tight-knit unit began to show signs of strain.
His increasing greed not only required more night raids but also led to the planning and execution of riskier daylight operations. The unit's discipline began to deteriorate, and some of the more violent members became involved in cold-blooded murder, which unsettled the others. These killings increasingly played a central role in their crimes, yet Colonel Winslow, for reasons unknown, was reluctant to intervene. They were committing numerous wrongs, and despite their effectiveness, the robberies and murders began to attract the attention of law enforcement beyond their local area, forcing them to operate in an ever-widening region. Their moral compass had become skewed, and Richard had long since lost his desire to continue down this path. He wanted out while he still had the chance.
"To hell with the oath," he would frequently tell himself. He knew his life would be in danger if he left the unit, but as the days and weeks passed, he made up his mind to do just that.
On a dark, moonless night about two years ago, Richard executed his escape plan. When Colonel Winslow discovered Richard had deserted, he was furious and dispatched several men to find and kill him for breaking the oath he had sworn to uphold. However, Richard had planned his escape well and managed to elude their grasp.
***
As Richard finished currying the horses, he convinced himself that telling his friend about his past life was far too dangerous. The secret would remain with him for as long as he lived. The Dark Riders might be on his trail at that very moment. He had sworn with his life never to leave the unit, and he was certain it was only a matter of time before they would come for him. He knew they had recognized him that morning, even from a distance, as they were trained to miss nothing.
He began placing large stones in the area where he planned to build a fire when he heard a muffled sound in the brush. Instantly, his training kicked in, and he became acutely aware of his surroundings. Could it be his friend Chester returning to camp with an armload of wood? Or perhaps the Dark Riders had found him and ambushed Chester while sneaking up on the camp. Seconds later, he had his answer. A man dressed in black stepped into the clearing, a six-gun on each hip and a knife in his boot.
The stranger spoke first. “We saw you on the ridge this morning. Did you really think we would let you get away this time?”
Richard slowly rose from his crouched position, his eyes fixed on the stranger's every move. It was one of the Dark Riders he had heard in the brush, and he recognized the man.
“I was expecting this; I’m just a little surprised it’s you, Nate. Where are your friends? Did you come alone?”
Nate stepped a little closer. “We have cargo to protect. I was sent alone.”
“I see, so you're still dragging the Colonel’s mistress around the countryside, are you?”
Nate disregarded the comment. “You were like a brother to me, Richard. I’m sorry I have to do this, but I don’t have a choice. You should have never left the unit. I’ll make this fair and give you a fighting chance. Your choice: guns or knives?”
Richard knew Nate was the faster draw, and he appreciated the offer of a fair fight. “You don’t have to do this, Nate. You could leave the unit like I did.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Richard. I’m in way too deep, and besides, I really don’t like the idea of looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. So, what will it be—guns or knives?”
Richard saw the futility in trying to convince his old friend Nate to give up the fight, so with some reluctance, he made his choice. “I choose knives; in fact, I choose one knife between the two of us. But before we start, answer me this: What did you do to Chester?”
“You always did have a soft spot for people,” Nate replied. “And I see you haven’t forgotten who the faster draw is either. If that’s how you want to play it, one knife it is. As for your partner, you’ll see him soon enough… right after I slit your throat.”
They both removed their gun belts and set them on the ground. Richard pulled his knife from its sheath and placed it beside his guns. Nate pulled his knife from his boot and threw it in Richard’s direction, where it stuck into the ground midway between them.
Richard immediately dove for it, and Nate was right on top of him. The struggle was intense as they wrestled for control, and for quite some time, neither was able to gain the upper hand. Several long minutes passed as they fought for possession. Slowly, Nate managed to gain the higher position and used his weight to press the knife closer to Richard’s throat.
Just when things were looking dire for Richard, a single shot rang out. Each man looked at the other in surprise, as neither had a gun. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of Nate’s mouth. As his strength began to fade, he turned to see Chester standing behind him with a pistol in his hand. A look of total surprise crossed his face as he slumped to the ground and died.
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