Ozark Vengeance Trail
by
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It had been a long, hot dusty trip for the large herd from Beeville and the trip wasn't close to being half over. After a particularly hard and grueling day, the cattle had finally been bedded down for the night. Several tired men sat around cross-legged, eating their long awaited evening meal. The weary cowhands were gratefully sitting on something other than a saddle, kidding each other and talking over the day's events. It was a typical calm, moonless night with the hint of a slight southwestern breeze which helped to cool down the parched landscape, at least for the night. The morrow would bring back the intense heat and misery for the cattle and the then soon to be dusty cowboys. But that would be tomorrow. Tonight, the work was finished. A lone chuck wagon stood in the background surrounded by the dry mesquite bushes that populated this central part of
Bob Hayden, trailboss, a tall husky man with deep lines on his forehead and under his eyes was good naturedly ribbing one of the cowhands about the
"Gripe, gripe, gripe! Why, Hell's Bells, you'd fuss if you knowed you was goin' to be shot with a brand new rifle, Harley! Anyway, you think this wind is bad? Hah! Just wait 'till you get a shot of them hot windy
Hayden stopped speaking in mid-sentence as an alien night sound reached his ears. The other men stopped all movement as each listened, intently, to the slow approach of a horse somewhere near camp. As the men sat frozen, straining to hear, the sound became clearer with each passing moment. It was indeed the sound of a horse, a very emaciated horse, judging from the slow, measured steps. Usually with a horse there was a rider and this being the hard country this was, chances were never taken. One man eased his rifle within easy reach and another loosed the thong on his pistol. The others shifted positions to allow their shooting hand a bit more freedom. Every man wore a pistol. Two men carefully eased themselves deeper into the shadows. All were men of experience and in a wild land such as this, to expect the unexpected was sometimes the difference between living and dying. Even so, prepared as they had made themselves for possible visitors, friendly or hostile, they still involuntarily jumped at the closeness from which a tired voice broke the silence of the night.
"Hello, the campfire," the voice said clearly. "One rider alone an' friendly. All right to come in?"
The men looked at one another. Bob Hayden glanced quickly toward the men in the shadows to see both with drawn weapons. One nodded and the trailboss peered into the darkness and spoke.
"If you're friendly, come in slow, hands in sight and welcome."
The men strained to see movement as they looked into the dark. The creak of saddle leather suggested someone was dismounting. Moments later a lone buckskin figure emerged from the night, hands held high above his head. He carefully looked over all faces around the campfire, taking grim note of the men in the shadows. In turn, the cowhands were presented with a most unusual sight.
It was readily apparent the man had ridden long and hard. A film of dust covered him, head to boot, and he had the well known look of a man long without rest. He stood about six feet tall and had the initial look of a range rider. Closer examination would belie those first impressions. His clothing hinted that this man was not the usual range hand. His buckskin shirt was a type worn in recent times by trappers and buffalo hunters but now was unusual to see on the range. The faded pants were thin of seat, suggesting long amounts of time spent in the saddle. The
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About the Book
They raped and murdered his mother and sister. Then they viciously killed his father and seriously wounded his Uncle Milo. Finally, believing all to be dead, the killers burned down the cabin with the bodies inside, but...they had missed one.
Young Jonathan Doyle returning from a hunting trip with some Indian friends finds his home burned to the ground, the charred bodies of his family in the ashes. The heinous murders would have gone unsolved except for one thing: his Uncle Milo, though seriously wounded, had escaped the inferno and survived to tell the tale. Jonathan Doyle swears revenge, citing "an eye for an eye" as his ultimate goal.
About the Author
Doyle Frederick Riggs has been writing since 1988, beginning as a business writer, writing for well-known magazines such as Income Opportunities, Salesman and others. His favorite books (and writers) have always been Westerns and when switching to fiction, the logical choice was Westerns. He has written three and is nearing completion on his fourth. This book, Ozark Vengeance Trail is the first, featuring the pioneer family named Doyle, a tough, Ozark mountain clan, slow to anger but once riled, a deadly adversary.