Jack Marston is at a low point in his life. His family is dead, Beecher's Hope is in ruins, and he has nothing left to live for. Most days he spends so drunk he can barely remember anything, he kills and robs people at will, and there isn't an ounce...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was early morning, and Jack was alone. He'd strayed into Tall Trees last night looking for elk, but found none. There were far fewer game animals here than he remembered, and it sobered him up a bit to think that maybe it wasn't just the buffalo being hunted to extinction anymore. According to the settlers in Manzanita, no one had seen a single moose in the forest in years, and only a scant few elk and bears. Deer were the most plentiful game these days, and even their numbers were dwindling a bit as more and more people moved to the region.
The pack horse tied to Buell's saddle was an old, shire gelding the women had been using to pull the wagon sometimes, but he was a good, calm horse with plenty of strength and a fine temperament to match. Unfortunately, Jack had no game to put on his back, and he hated to go back to Beecher's Hope empty handed. They were running low on meat in the icehouse, and it would be winter soon. They would need provisions to get them through it.
As luck would have it, however, Jack managed to spy a large set of hoof prints leading off into the undergrowth near the edge of the road, just as he was getting ready to declare this hunt a failure. With tracks that large, it had to be a bull elk making them.
He pulled his rifle from his saddle and lashed Buell and the pack horse off to the side of the trail, hidden in the trees. With this done, he set about tracking the elk, creeping through the ferns and blackberry vines as quietly as a cougar. As he tracked, his mind fluttered back to a memory of his father, the first time he had ever taken Jack hunting with him.
Jack sat beneath the shade of a large live oak tree, his favorite spot to relax when he had a book he wanted to read. The pages he turned now contained one of his favorite stories, about a man bent on revenge. Red Dead Revenge, the book was called. It was one of the best stories he'd ever read.
"What's the book, boy?" asked Pa, tearing Jack out of the immersion in his fictional world. Jack dog-eared the page and sighed, a bit annoyed that he'd been disturbed.
"Uh... Nothing, sir," Jack replied. He doubted Pa would find it interesting. He wasn't really one for story books anyway.
But Pa only smiled and crossed his arms, looking down at Jack. "What's it about?"
A bit surprised and caught off guard, Jack grunted and got to his feet. "Well, it's an adventure, sir. Uh... Set out in the West?" Grinning slightly, Jack couldn't help but talk about the story; he loved it too much.
"It tells this amazing story about how the people killed the savage redskins, and how this man, this brave man, hunts the man who killed his father." As he talked, his voice grew more and more excited, more dramatic. And as he talked, Pa's smile grew. At the time, Jack hadn't noticed it, but years later when he thought back to this happy memory, he would remember Pa's smile, and just how much he'd loved to see Jack happy.
"I'm glad you're enjoyin' it," Pa said simply. He cocked his head slightly and continued. "Talkin' of adventure, how'd you like to learn to track elk? Really big ones in the valley this time of year."
