#1 in 1800s 10-10-2021
Ellie Sweeten, a young woman with unusual gifts, is making her way westward with her parents, in an era just after the civil war. The Sweeten family embarked on an opportunity for a new life away from the memories of war and t...
Maskwa winced, his rough fingers clutching tightly around the reins. The pain in his leg was excruciating but he had to press on. Mistanask was taken by the evilest of men.
He knew all too well of Clyde's proclivities and penchants. Particularly, for violence against women. He deigned to think of the horrors she bore witness to.
Mistanask, the badger, a remarkable spiritual leader. The digger with the ability to see what is beyond the surface of all things and all people. She is bold and ferocious when cornered. She reminds us all to never surrender.
He worried that Clyde would crush her spirit and diminish her. He, for all intents and purposes, was Witikos. An evil man-eating spirit. The sins of selfishness, hate, and greed corrupted his soul leaving nothing behind of the man he once was.
A frown marked his visage. Alone he could do nothing to save her. For as much as it distressed him to admit it, he needed the help of River Collins.
He knew where River and Jolene were headed and it would only take a day or two to get there at a hard gallop. He knew the risks of him bleeding to death before he found them but he'd have to take that risk. He needed to find them in time to save her.
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Where once vibrant brown eyes as pretty as the soul underneath, cast looks of contempt, anger, and on occasion compassion at him; he could not explain the dread he felt at what stared back.
Wide-open unblinking eyes stared blankly ahead. Their warm amber faded to an opaque bluish tint. Her golden-brown skin was washed out grey. Her limbs were ill-placed and flaccid as she lay on the ground unmoving.
There was no sign of life in her except the life that once was and how she lost it. A bullet tore a hole in the center of her chest. Her exposed skin was marked with scars as if she had been flogged, nay, tortured prior to her death.
She lay unmoving in a pool of her own blood. A scream ripped through River. He jolted from his sleep, clenching a revolver for dear life. His left hand searched in vain for its twin, ready to avenge the vision of his fallen Ellie. He remembered suddenly that he'd given it to her.
He prayed that it protected her in his stead. He didn't know what he would do if anything untoward should befall her.
His large hand wiped roughly over his face as he stared at the dying embers of the small fire they'd built. Jolene lay on her bedroll, sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by his desperate frightened screams.
His brows came together in a frown when a suspicious rustling in the bushes garnered his attention. He crept slowly to his feet his gun already in hand.
He pulled back on the hammer and placed his finger gently on the trigger. Where his scream did not awaken her, the muffled sounds in the brush did. Jolene sat up, her six-shooter already in hand.
