The Trail to Revenge
DescriptionA lawman chases an outlaw to seek revenge, but will revenge be enough?
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The Trail to Revenge CHAPTER 1 Wyoming Territory, July, 1887 The sun was baking down on the plains, a vast expanse of land covered with sagebrush grass and dotted with cottonwood trees. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but flat land with the occasional rise. The only sound was when the wind blew, making the trees shift. The sky was a magnificent blue, with a few wispy clouds, unmoving. The heat was oppressive, making breathing difficult, and playing games with ones vision. This was why the plains were often called the High Lonesome. It left a man feeling insignificant and alone. This was US Marshal Jake Griffin’s element He had been traveling the High Lonesome going on 23 years, ever since the Civil War ended. He had left the Army of the Potomac as a Captain, and a hardened veteran. To look at him, one would guess he was born in the West. Jake stood 6’2”, weighing 200 pounds, powerfully built, with big shoulders and long legs. At the age of 45, with a face weathered by the elements, and hands calloused by hard work, he looked like the quintessential cowboy. No one would guess he was born a Yankee, in Pennsylvania Dutch country no less. He smiled, comfortable in his own skin, and where life had taken him. He was looking forward to coming home to his wife and daughter in his ranch just outside of Cheyenne. Jake knew his wife was not happy, with his work often taking him out on the trail, but he was hoping to make it up to her when he arrived home. “COCKSUCKER”!! Jake’s revelry was disturbed by the outburst from his prisoner. Jake turned his big Appaloosa torward the man in chains upon his horse. Bob Wade was 35 years old, about 5’7”, and scrawny. But he was mean as a mama bear, and as fast with a pistol, like a rattlesnake bite. Wade woke up every morning mad at the world. He was Johnny Reb through and through, and had not accepted the South lost. He hated the Negro, and Northerners just as much. Wade too had fought in the war, with the Texas Cavalry, where he put his hatred to good use. Jake smiled. “Something bothering you Wade”? Jake had a voice as smooth as Kentucky bourbon on a cold night. He almost never raised his voice, often speaking quietly to make the other person listen harder. It was a trick he learned from other lawmen over the years. Also, he knew speaking this way infuriated his prisoner. “You know what’s bothering me you cocksucker! You buffaloed me back in Platt’s River. Give me my guns and I’ll blow you down here and now”! Wade roared. As smooth as Jake’s voice was, Wade’s voice was as annoying as a rusty barn door that refused to stay closed. Jake got off his horse and took Wade’s gun belt out of his saddle bag. Wade was looking at the Marshal with a sense of unease. “There’s no way you’re gonna give me a fair fight” Wade said. Jake was silent as church as he grabbed Wade and pulled him off his horse. He tossed the gun belt a few feet away from the outlaw. And then he uncuffed him. All this time, Jake was looking straight at Wade, intently. This unnerved the outlaw, as he was used to bullying his opponents. He had seen the Marshal in a few gunfights, and admittedly he was fast. Wade thought he was faster, but a trickle of sweat made its way down his back. The outlaw was shocked at how utterly calm the Marshal was.