Wilderness Double Edition 27 by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mountainmen, piccadilly publishing, david robbins, westerns ebook, westerns 1800s, nate king, land barons, wilderness men, americas untamed west, rocky moountains
Publisher: Piccadilly

WILDERNESS 54: PURE OF HEART

Dedicated to Judy, Shane, Josh and Kyndra. And for Ben...you rock!

Prologue

Out of the east, and the dawn, came four riders.

For as far as the eye could see stretched pristine prairie. Shimmering in the bright sunlight, the grass was stirred now and again by a warm breeze. Stirred, too, were the leaves of cottonwood trees that fringed a meandering stream the four riders had been following for the better part of a month.

The riders did not know the name of the stream. They did not even know if it had one. To them, it represented the safest means of reaching the mountains. They need not want for water. Nor for food, since all kinds of animals came to the stream to slake their thirst and fell to the rifles of the four.

The waving grass and stately trees and ribbon of blue were Nature at her finest. The prairie possessed a rich beauty all its own. Here and there wildflowers added splashes of color to its luster.

But the four men did not appreciate such things. When they gazed out over the shimmering grass, they saw only grass. When they glanced at the cottonwoods, they saw only firewood. When they stared at the gurgling ribbon of blue, they saw only water. Nature’s beauty was lost on the four. For them the natural world held no wonder, no allure. It simply was. That a wildflower might entrance them was as remote a possibility as the sun and the moon swapping orbits.

The four rode warily. They bristled with weapons: rifles, flintlock pistols, knives. Every so often the last in line would shift in his saddle and scan their back trail with an intensity that spoke of purpose.

All four had slick, greasy hair. All four were unshaven. Their bodies were strangers to soap and water. So, too, were their clothes. None of them gave any thought to the stink or the dirt. To them it was normal, part and parcel of their existence.

In size they varied. The lead rider was short and wiry and had features much like a rat’s. The second man was broad of face and body, with muscles on top of muscles. His low forehead and a vacant aspect to his deep-set eyes suggested he was quicker on his feet than between his ears. The third rider was a mulatto. The fourth, the one who kept shifting in the saddle, had unkempt straw-colored hair that poked from under his cap.

They rode in silence. Only the clomp of hooves and creak of leather marked their passage.

The morning came and went. The sun was directly overhead when the leader motioned at the stream and reined his mount in among the trees. Undergrowth was sparse. He came to a halt at the water’s edge and announced, ‘We will stop for a while.’

No one objected. The second man dismounted and stretched, iron muscles bulging under his shirt. ‘I am plumb sick of all this grass,’ he declared.

The mulatto slid down with agile grace. ‘A cow would call this heaven, my friend.

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