New story "Into The Mountain" from a pic.

I have done a series of stores based on a series of Pictures: drawings, paintings etc. that Charlie Hoover puts up. He shows the artist's name and all details. Many of the stories are very short mini tales. Some are flash and some are much longer-a regular short story-like this one. Charlie has a web site now where he shows those pictures. So I include a link there after this story. I describe the setting of the picture in the story but I am trying this to show you the picture that inspired me for this story. All of these stories are free and are here or on Google+ and on FaceBook.

This one took me a while, but I am working on other pic tales, including one not of Hoover’s Collection, stories to send out to markets, and a set of Western stories I still need a pic of a Marshal’s badge in good shape. I have tried two picture sites. 

   Anyway, this is 3358 words long and tells of why the man in the picture found himself there and why he took the trip. Not to mention how cold that water is. All of the details of the artist is on Hoover’s site.

Now to the actual story:

Joshua had made it. The Crack existed. The hike had been so very long and in some places dangerous and hard. Some of it had been rather easy too. He still held his ski poles he had used to make the steep slopes easier. Hikers in some countries love them. He wasn’t sure he did though. 

       His breath still came hard for until about five minutes ago the angle of the sloop that led here had been very steep. They had warned him about that though. 

       The high, wide, smooth cliff he studied really had been split, so many ages ago no one could know for sure. When he had first seen the various sizes of rocks that rose here and there from the water and on dry land, he had known he made it. That included one to his left, not far from that opening, that looked three times higher than him and in wild imagination, looked like a giant alien head with a helmet that had been worn down.

           Once up here on the flat rock, he had rested for a few minutes until he looked up and saw the crack. He hid his stuff in a small hole behind a large rock out of sight of anyone, except for the pack on his back and the poles. Then he had hurried into the water. They had mentioned that too. 

      Now he stood before his goal. A thrill filled his heart. He couldn’t help it he just stared at the crack in the cliff wall. Well, his first goal, anyway. He would have to go inside to get to his second one.  

      The water in the river he stood in just reached the tops of his well worn boots-they had started brand new. Cold water ran down his ankles and feet. Behind him no sandy beach existed, the water just started after quite a few feet of mostly flat rock. Rain, no doubt, ran down this very slight sloop and joined the water in the river that flowed by here. Or could it be a very large creek? What the case it looked like only smooth granite existed here. 

      A soft noise made him look up and to one side. A flock of small, white birds made their way high above the water. They followed the river when it curved around and went though a much wider crack. The only other sound came from the raven behind him. It let loose a slight caw every few minutes. It may want food, or it came to bring luck or to warn of death.   

      Joshua studied the crack and the water at its base. He wasn’t sure if what he saw was a reflection on top of the clear smooth water at the base of the crack or if he could make out the base of the crack in what looked like chest high water. The flat rock he stood on may continue its slant downward which made the water much deeper at the base of the cliff.  

       A motion made him look down. A fish swim by. That would make sense for those birds lived here some place. Therefore there must be insects, berries and tiny fish for them to eat. Maybe for him too, for his food was low after that long journey. 

       He stared at the crack again. Part of him hadn’t believed it was real and another part doubted he could do it. But he had. He had become motivated when he realized his life went no where. Memories of stories he had heard of this place had to his mind. In his early years he had talked to no fewer than four people who had been here. That included two Native Americans, and one who surprised him. An old asian man who had served with the 442nd during WWII. Joshua never could be sure if the man had come here before his stint in the military, or after he came back home, but his descriptions fit what the others had seen. He said that it had changed his life. They all said that. That had made him determined to go see what lay inside the crack. 

        The journey had been dangerous, a bear had chased him for an hour. A day later a beaver of all things, had wanted to attack him. He hadn’t realized they were so big and fast and angry looking. Those teeth looked very sharp. He still wasn’t sure why the bear had stopped. Maybe he had reached the end of its hunting grounds or more disturbing that he had chanced into the territory of something that even scared large bears. He didn’t see any sign of anything but hadn’t spent much time looking either. The beaver had come out of no where. It could be that it had experienced humans before and didn’t like them or it thought it was some strange bear who would steal his food and destroy his dam or something else. He had noticed the dam and wanted to take a picture of it but that beaver changed his mind fast. No one else had mentioned bears or any type of animal. Could they be some form of test, he shrugged? Or they had set up home after the last of the four had been here. 

       Before the bear he had walked a narrow strip with a long drop on one side and a short cliff on the other. That had taken over an hour to navigate. Only inches on one side even as his other side brushed up against a short cliff.  Days later and he had one day of heavy breathing, walking up that very steep incline. He had been warned about those two sections though, and even more. 

     At night he had made himself as secure as possible. The way the older of those Native Americans had taught him. His fires had always been in hole that had been cleared for two feet around it. When possible he used a rock as a back drop. That helped to reflect heat his way. The first few nights had been hard. He had awakened at slight nosies and once overfed his fire, which came close to jumping out of the hole. 

     Joshua looked around: at the water, at the flat rock, back at the smooth cliff. A frown formed on his lips. If the animals had been tests maybe that deep water was one too. 

    He walked closer, the water came up to his knees. The men he had talked thought this place appeared to be a museum of creation. It showed how the earth had been made and perhaps why. They had not been so clear about that. That is what changed them evidently, he thought. His path through the water seemed louder perhaps because no other sound, except for the birds flapping their wings, could be heard here. 

     Very cold-another test? At least the water looked pure enough not to worry about drinking it, unless something died up stream of course. Its scent filled his nose, not much else up here to cover  that scent either, he found he liked it. 

      Joshua thought about the water. He could swim if it went over his head, but he would have to with his backpack on, it still weighed quite a bit. It might protect his lights and food from getting wet. He walked to one side to study it. Maybe he could approach from another angle? He moved over about ten feet, and walked toward the wall. 

      Oops, if he saw correctly the water might go under the cliff right here. He didn’t need to slip under it with the water. 

      He moved over to the other side. Could he move some of the larger rocks and step on them? His legs would still be in the water but he could handle that since they were wet already. Joshua moved one rock lager than his head, with a flat top. He found another and slid it down by the first one and one that had sat near the crack already. 

      He used his feet to get another one. 

      Joshua’s foot slipped, even with his hiking boots on. Cold water covered his head. The next thing he knew his back side touched the rock bottom. Taken by surprise air had rushed out of his lungs, so they burned already. His heavy boots, now soaked with water, pulled his feet down. His back sunk deeper with the pack on it. His eyes had opened in shock. Now with water in them he couldn’t see beyond a blur. Which way was up?

     Of course, it hadn’t been that deep. He sought purchase with his feet. They slipped, again and again. His lungs ached and burned. Water seeped into his mouth.

       He commanded his mind to slow, he could do this, with slower yet rushed movements he managed to get both feet under him.

      Joshua leapt upward, shattered the surface, hard enough to create a sort of waterfall upward. He stumbled back, breathed hard, gasped, coughed three times. Bile and clear water filled his mouth. He spat it all out. He managed to stumble to where he had left his stuff. He had two towels there in a second pack. He unzipped it and took out one towel, rubbed the cloth over his face and hair. Then he hurriedly slipped off the one he wore. He almost tore the zipper getting it open. Joshua felt the inside of the pack, and various flashlights. 

     Good nothing was wet, except the clothes he had on. They still dripped water. He sighed and gathered drift wood. Not as much as he wanted so he walked back half an hour and picked up fallen branches of various sizes. He kept an eye out for snakes. He had seen four on this journey but none had threaten him, but he knew some were poisonous in these mountains, so he checked while he picked up wood. 

     Once back at where he left his stuff he cleared as much of a  small hole as he could, on one side of a larger rock uplift. It would help to reflect the heat back at him. He didn’t have to worry about burning the forest down here. He used some of his surelit and got a nice fire going.    Then he stripped-everything for even his underwear had been soaked all the way through. He even took off his socks. He had another two pair and shorts and a thicker t-shirt. He put them on then draped the wet clothes on rocks and on the ground near the fire. It helped keep him warm as the sun went down. He had a small dinner: jerky, a cereal bar and freeze dried rice-that water made good food too. The bar had veggies in it so he had every thing he needed. 

     The morning sun woke him. He had moved twice, once to empty his bladder and once to add wood to the fire. On the way he had religiously checked his chosen spot to make sure it really was safe. He always kept the fire going through the night in its hole in the ground and his brightest light near at hand. He had brought some stuff that supposedly would repel any animal handy too. But so far nothing had come near him-that he knew of. Had the small fire frighten them? Or had he lucked out? He didn’t think anything would come his way here, but best to make sure. So he kept this fire going too. It still burned at a low level. His clothes were mostly dry. One area of his shirt though still held water and the back pockets of his pants still felt soaked. His towel still produced water when he rung it.They smelled of smoke too. But that would not matter.      

     He dressed and had a bite to eat. Then entered the water again. 

     Maybe he had the wrong crack, or it had changed in the decades the last of the four had come here. The water was still cold. He shook his head. He would go. At least his clothes had been cleaned a little. If this was a museum of Creation better to wear clean clothes. He thought. 

     As he walked the water came up to his stomach. He would have to take off his backpack and carry it higher. His flashlights would be safe. Two windup ones, six small ones and three medium ones, and five emergency candles with wax covered wood matches. That included one extra set of batteries for each, except the windup lights of course. They were all LED lights, supposedly lasting longer while producing more light.

    Maybe this crack would finally close with him inside, or a wild animal had moved in. With this water? He didn’t think so. Joshua shook his head again. He had come all this way so he would continue. He needed something in his life.

    When he entered the crack he thought, Hopefully a beach would show up soon, though. 

   

*********************

    Hours later he came back out, shock on his face. The water still felt cold, but it didn’t slow the sweat on his face and hair-not from the heat even though places inside had been hot, and not from fear-he could still fear the fear he had felt in certain sections. The heat had dried his clothes, but then he was amazed-and shook. Lava, crystals filled with what appeared to be images of the earth at various stages. 

     Earth crushing anger too-large rocks split, and broken down to dust. Yet that hadn’t happened-something else had taken place instead, and he had seen a whole lot more. 

     Damn, no pictures, he hadn’t even thought about taking any. 

     He looked around and blinked in the sunlight. He better set up camp. No dinner tonight, he didn’t feel like eating after that. 

     The possibility existed that it was all a natural occurrence, especially the ones that looked like the early stages of the Earth. Lava had been there when the crystals formed after all, but, he shook his head, that would have to be at least half a dozen large coincidences. But why here? It would seem Africa or the Middle East would be a better location. Then again, maybe they each did have one. Possibly all continents, including Antartica, had one. Just because he had never heard of one, didn’t mean they didn’t. It was chance that he had found this one.  

     But that rose another question. If made then, why? And speaking of why. Why wasn’t the Earth destroyed at that last stage? He looked around, and nodded when a memory from years ago came to the forefront of his mind. He had the answers at home. One Native American and the other guy had mentioned that. He would go home, read and find out the answer to that perplexing question. 

       He cleaned up his mess,filled his two large and two small canteens, even though it meant pouring out some older water. He started down that steep slope. He hoped that bear wasn’t around. Maybe he should take rocks with him. He could throw fairly well. A couple of small rocks in the bear’s mouth might distract it enough for him to get away. It would could chew them to pieces and spit them out-hmm,could bears spit? And if it swallowed the tiny pieces they probably would not do it any real harm-like bones it ate.

     If need be maybe a fist size rock in an eye. He would hate to blind it and it would make it even angrier, but again it might distract it enough for him to get away.  

    It took him a little less time, only seven days, to get back to signs of civilization. That still left him another four days to get back to his car. No bear this time. However he did see the beaver.  

    He had to walk by the lake the beaver’s dam had made. A trail showed that others had come and gone this way. Maybe they had been deer and other smaller animals, though. 

    Just about the same time he thought about refilling on canteen, since he had seen no sign of the beaver. He thought the water looked as clear and clean as the water by the crack, so it would be as good. 

     It popped out of the water. He pulled a rock out of his pocket and then walked outward away from the lake, and through some trees that grew close to the edge. He could smell sap and freshly cut wood. Or probably freshly chewed wood. The ground angled here, so he had to almost walk sideways for a minute or two. But he came back near the lake. The beaver growled and hissed at him. He threw the rock at it, but not to hit it. It landed in front of it and bounced toward the animal. It just looked at it and started his way. He hurried along and slid passed the dam. It stopped when it came to the dam.

     This time he thought it looked like it just wanted to warn him away. Last time he thought it wanted to attack. Joshua continued on, back on level ground. When he approached where he thought he had left the bear behind, he took out one of those pouches. It may or may not work as advertised but he would try it. However no sign of the bear. Maybe it was gone to another part of its hunting grounds. The area he had thought about going to. It would have taken him three more days but avoiding the bear would be worth it. Now, though, here was where there was no bear. He hurried through where he had seen it before. Once clear-or so he hoped-of its area. He paused. What would scare a bear? A larger bear? A Bigfoot? Not a lot but there had been sightings here over the years. They were supposedly larger and stronger looking than even a bear. But than again maybe it was a skunk. Even a grizzly would not enjoy being spayed by one. However they must get eaten too, or there would be tons of them around. He shrugged with no answer.

      That night, however, something sniffed around his camp. Something small.  A skunk? A raccoon? They can be thieves, but he refrained from turning on his light, in case it was a skunk. The glow from the fire didn’t show him anything. The next day, he found that nothing had been disturbed. No teeth marks on his packs , etc. Of course he slept with one of them under his head but still. 

      A day after he ran out of his food he saw the small group of cabins that mean he was near people again. The place had a small restaurant so he could buy a meal. He double checked to make sure he still had his wallet. It had gotten wet twice. Not so much the second time but still dollar bills were winkled-yet still spendable and his cards looked in good shape. 

    He looked back the way he had come. There that mountain range there with the rock side. It looked like the right one. He took three pictures of it and one of the cabins. He still needed to walk to his car but he was no hurry. 

    The book still waited for him at home, but because of previous readings and what other people had said about it, he had an idea of what saved the Earth and the people on it. 

    He looked around, felt his mind, his spirit, his mind set-they all had been correct he had changed, but maybe not in the way he had hoped. Still, he smiled, not bad. 

    Now, he started down toward the cabins, for lunch or early dinner, whatever time it might be.

end

Picture link:

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Serial Western Part two-War Wound

May 21 a bit late in the evening here, the next day in some places but Happy Armed Forces day to all members and ex-members of the Armed Forces.


This is part two and final section, of War Wound, my post Civil war action packed Western.
Even if that is a redundant sentence. :)
Comments are welcome.

I ended up adding over 1,000 words to my original tale. That was after I cut a few sentences and phrases. I added more in descriptions, action and the five human senses to draw people deeper into the various scenes. It's very hard to do that with just one or two senses, even though there are a couple of authors who can. But for most of us we need the whole batch of human senses. Even with that I believe I would have done more of that if I had rewritten this by scratch.

I added a bit from last week to help reorient the reader to what is happening in this week's section.

He figured the something was him. He saw one of them glance his way. 

     John glanced down at his clothes. He cursed—silently again. He had forgotten he was wearing a red plaid shirt. That wasn't good at all, he must be standing out like a Yankee among Johnny Rebs.

    More gun shots.

    *****

 John spurred his horse and raced down the other side of the hill, and around a huge outcropping of rock. He jumped off his horse, opened a saddle bag, then rummaged around in it. He hurriedly sorted though the three shirts he had in it, finding the one that would be the least noticeable in this terrain. It was dark blue with some green in it. Not the best, but at least the green was the same as some of the leaves this far up the mountain, and it would be harder to see in shade. John quickly pulled off the red shirt, popping two buttons as he did. He stuffed it into the saddle bag under the other shirts, than put on the blue one. 

     He leapt back onto his horse and started off, buttoning his shirt as he did. The new shirt was thicker and may keep him warmer too. It didn’t smell of sweat either. One less thing to alert them to where he was. He looked around, listened for birds, squirrels, horse steps or low voices. Now he would take the fight to them. Old instincts came alive as he circled the hill to get behind them. Even his senses seem to come alive. It always seemed that he could hear and see better. And he would notice a tiny breeze brush his arms hairs. His nose functioned a cut above its normal ability.

     Forty-five-seconds later he found that he was now behind and to one side of them. He watched them as they rode on. Now there were five and none seemed to be wounded. Maybe the wounded one was hold up somewhere, too hurt to join in looking for him. He could hope anyway.  

     John noticed that all five were about to ride around a second large outcropping of rock near that hill he had been on. This one had a cleft in it and two tiny trees growing from it. Around the rock there were many trees clumped together. He heard their horses snort and their hoofs hitting the mulch covered ground but they didn’t speak. Not even in a whisper. A heavy breeze blew over him. He thought it was away from them. The only   odors he caught came from the forest: mulch being stepped on and crushed, bird droppings, pine needles. 

     They probably thought he was still running, and would be easy to spot in that red shirt he had been wearing. Their mistake, he thought. Wished he had some mint leaves to chew on to keep his mouth busy.  

    The last man was behind the others by a few feet. He looked young and probably did not have as much experience as the others seemed to have. He wore new solid blue shirt and denim pants too.

     John urged his horse onward. He, even though a gelding, was a good horse well trained in being quiet. He planned to come up behind the man from one side. John debated how to take him out. Shooting would make too much noise this close to the others. Looks like it has to be the hard way.

     The younger man must have sense something and turned to see John right next to him. 

     He looked startled and said, “You're not..."

     John didn't let him finish, before he grabbed him and pulled. Both men fell off their horses. John made sure he landed on top and was up first and punched the other just as he was standing. It was a hard hit, but the other took the punch and threw one of his own. He was faster then expected and hit John on the chest. It hurt, but John ignored the pain and swung again. They traded blows for a few seconds with John landing more hits then his foe.

     The younger man must have realized he was losing for he stepped back and started to draw his gun. John could smell the man’s sweat as his fear grew. John almost nodded because he had expected that action. As the gun cleared the holster and started swinging up, John brought down his hand hard. His hand impacted the top of the gun and the man’s thumb. The force of the blow hurt, but not bad enough to interfere. The weapon flew out of the guy's hand. The man made an automatic reach for the gun, even though it was a useless action. It was a short motion for the man aborted the effort, but John still could take advantage off it. First he jabbed the guy in the stomach hard. The man bent over and as he did John threw an uppercut right into his moving chin. The man's eyes glazed over and he collapsed. John had almost cried out from the pain of the impact, it hurt a lot more than he recalled. 

      Age or out of practice.

     That had taken longer then John had planned. He backed up and smacked into the unconscious man's horse. The horse spooked and took off around the bend. The same curve the others had taken not that long ago. They would be wondering what was taking their companion so long. If they didn't know something was up, they would now. John ran over and leaped on his horse and rode into the trees.

     In scant heartbeats the four riders came back around the bend and galloped into the trees after his own horse’s thundering hoofs. For the next few minutes he and the four played a deadly game of hide and seek. They managed to get three shots off. Twice as he slipped, barely in time, out of a small clearing as one or more of the others rode in. One of those thumped into a tree next to him. Birds took off screaming their fear. Bile came up in Tom’s mouth. The third shot missed be a good distance.

     Finally John decided it was time to end it, in a way he didn't want to, but had already decided to do. He maneuvered his horse though a thicket then in between two trees very close together. The trees had high brush around them and some very low branches. He had his horse ease into a clump of bushes-the bark on either side scrapped his outer legs even though his pants-and stop. He just sat there while waiting for the others. He saw three ride nearby slowly looking though the brush. All three turned to their right and entered a small clear area. He backed his horse out silently, then followed them in drawing his gun as he did. 

     As they were about to head back into the trees, he said, "Hello,". 

     He had his pistol ready and fired one round as he finished saying, "Hello". John moved his arm to his left, firing again. He  kept his arm moving, without slowing and fired once more. 

     When they heard his hello, two had started to twist around in their saddles, drawing their pistols as they did. His first two shots hit them before they could finish the movement. The first one had his gun halfway out of his holster when John's bullet drilled into him. The impact knocked him off his horse. The second  had twisted around enough to see John, but the second bullet hit him before he could even think about aiming his revolver. He fell sideways, landing by his horse's hoofs in a clump. Both men were dead. John's third shot missed.

     John reamed and as he did he noticed that the third man was the one he thought of as the leader of this band. Before he could fire again there was a movement behind he more felt then heard. He did something he hadn't had to do in years, but his body still remembered. He pitched himself off his horse, rolling as he hit the ground. He hit a little hard, but was able to keep rolling. He rolled for a few feet though a small clump of bushes. He finally came up on one knee facing toward the leader, on one side and his horse on the other. There was a fourth rider on a horse behind and to the right of John's horse. He had a rifle pointing at where John had been a moment ago. The guy looked puzzled like he couldn't figure out why John was no longer in his sights.

     John thought about shooting him, but the angle was wrong to get a good shot, so he fired at the leader again. Right after squeezing the trigger, he stood and took off, running in a zig zag pattern. He stopped behind one of the larger trees and quickly reloaded his pistol. It wasn't empty, but he had been taught, which had been confirmed by experience, that he should take the time to reload any chance he got. It was not a good idea to have a suddenly empty gun in the middle of a fight like this one. 

     When he was done he courteously peered around the tree he was behind. The bark dug into his face but it wouldn’t be deep enough to cause bleeding. He had his gun out ready, but John didn't see anyone. Gun smoke drifted and spread out from his original position and he could smell it. 

     With a suddenness that always surprised him, two bullets thudded into the other side of the tree. Neither penetrated all the way though the tree, though. Both John and his wife was glad of that. He pulled back and as he did he realized that from the sound of the impacts, each bullet had come from different directions. So they were trying to come at him from opposite directions, like a pincer. Since he hadn't heard them talking, they were probably using hand signals to communicate. Which supported his idea that they had some experience, probably from the military.

     He spied another hiding place, crouching low, he ran though some underbrush. He ran for some heartbeats before half jumping behind another wide tree. He kept low and peered around the tree. Nothing, he moved to the other side and peered around it again.

    There was one of the two making his way though the underbrush, going from tree to tree. John carefully aimed and pulled the trigger. He thought he hit the man, but in case he hadn't, John dived behind another tree. There was no return fire. 

     Very courteously he made his way to where he had shot the man. No body, not even any blood. That meant he had missed. He froze except for his head. He moved his head around looking for any movement, but saw nothing. They must be waiting for him to move, he thought. He stood there for what seemed like five minutes, or more trying to look in every direction at once. He was in a position he had hated getting into during the war.  

     He finally saw something move. He watched the place for a moment since he could not tell if it had been an animal, or one of the men. On his way through the forest, he had seen, raccoons, squirrels and the like. It could quite easily been one of them that had just moved. In a fast movement, he bent over picked up a large pine cone and threw it where he had seen the movement. It landed and bounced, but there was no further movement. He dived to his right and scrambled on his knees though some bushes. He could feel that the knees of his pants had worn thin with all of this scrambling. He ended up behind a four foot tall, five foot wide rock. Two bullets hit near one side of the rock, throwing up miniature geysers of dirt.

    Tom’s heart rate jumped and he ran in a crouch again, as close to rocks, trees and taller bushes as he could. He made it among a group of trees small very close together. No movement, then a leave rustled on one side of a tree. He ran from the other side of the tree, crouching as he did. At least two bullets buzzed past him and he dived into a roll. 

     He came up on one knee firing. The leader was standing in front of him and to one side. John had seen him, as he came out of the roll, and had his gun ready. John fired three shots at the man. The bullets hit him in the stomach, chest and face. Blood sprayed out of the holes. 

     As the leader went flying backwards from the force of the impact of the bullets, John heard a grasp from behind him. He fell over to his left. He flipped over to his back and very fast pushed with his feet to get his head under some heavy brush. Pine needles, dirt and tiny pebbles poured through the neck hole in his shirt, but he ignored the discomfort. He laid there and tried not to breath hard, and hoping that he was right in thinking that he would not be seen by a standing man. 

     Suddenly something larger than an arm crashed into the brush to one side. Seconds later another crash happened a couple of feet from his right side. He could see part of what looked like a rather large branch. It looked like the last man must have picked up a heavy branch and was trying to smash John with it. He must have lost it when he saw his leader get shot. Again there was a crash, this time a bit further away, near his feet. 

     John saw two feet smash though the underbrush. Dust was thrown up, some settled into Tom’s mouth. He would have to wait to wash it out. He could stand the taste as long as he didn’t have to start coughing to clear his throat.

    The  feet came his way, so he scooted backwards again. This time though his upper half popped out into a clear place. The man and John saw each other at the same time. The man flung the branch at John then drew his gun. The branch landed heavily right next to John's face, but he ignored the crashing branch and more raised dust. John raised his gun and shot the man before he could aim his own weapon. 

     The man just stood there for a long moment then his expression changed from rage and anger to shock. He stood another moment or two, half way bent over, said, "You're not...," then fell forward. John scrambled up and hurried over to check to check the body. He was dead.

     Next John rushed over to the leader. He was surprised to find that he was still alive. The last bullet had just scraped one cheek, probably because the first two bullets had pushed him backwards.

     When John knelt next to him the man looked at him with shock showing, said, "You're not..."

     John said, “You're the third person who has said that."

     "Who are you?"

     John said, "The man you have been chasing for the last few hours."

     The man nodded and said, "You changed your shirt to something that wouldn't stand out so much."

     "Why were you trying to kill me? I don’t know you nor have I harmed you.”

     "We thought you were someone else. Someone who had cheated us, he sometimes liked to dress like you were, and we were told he would be where you were."

     John Adler felt rage boil up, he felt like throwing his gun as far as he could.

     In a voice that was almost yelling he said, "All that death over a mistake?!"

     "It looks like it. In your case it was mistaken hate, with those minors it was just a mistake, we didn't set out to kill them."

     John couldn't believe his ears. He felt even more rage and bought down both hands, hitting the ground hard. He let out an angry scream. He didn't feel the small pebbles and dirt particles dig into his hands. 

    "All of this death! You killed innocent men and you forced me to kill you and it was all over a mistaken identity."

     The man looked taken back by the violent reaction, he coughed in pain, then said, "We've... paid for our mistake. The man we were after pretended to join us, became out friend. He...(cough) he cheated us out of some money and a job we had been hired to do. When we saw you, we thought you were him... two of our younger men started shooting at you. They reacted too soon because of lack of experience. Then when you led us to that minor's camp," 

     He coughed again, swallowed hard, then continued, "The same two men opened up, when they thought the minors were drawing on us. I saw what was happening and shouted not to fire, but it was too late. I really am sorry about their deaths."

     John shook his head in unbelief as the dying leader continued, "You shot the two men over there," 

     With an effort he raised one arm and pointed in the general direction of where John had shot the two men after coming up behind them and the leader.

     John sat back and thought about the death that he had just seen and participated in. He had thought that he had left all this violence behind, far behind in the war, but it had come back into his life the hard way. Over a stupid mistake even. He shook his head again.

     A few seconds later the man he was kneeling next to gasped and died. John checked the body to make sure the man was dead then walked over to where the two men were. He double checked them as well. One had died instantly, but the other may have lived a couple of minutes after being shot. Next he found his horse.      

     After he had brought his horse back to where the leader's body was he went back to the two, than he found the last man he had shot. He dragged all of the bodies together. More dust rose up but now he could drink from his canteen. The warm afternoon weather made the water taste better than usual. 

     A new idea formed. He went though the pockets of the dead men, taking what he thought was valuable. That included their weapons and money. There was not much on the way of jewelry. He bundled what he found together in an old half blanket he had. He then put it in one saddle bag. 

     When he was done he got on his horse and rode to the minor's camp. As he neared the camp, he rode slowly making sure his horse made plenty of noise this time. When he rounded the curve in the trail, he was met by two guns, a revolver and a rifle. He stopped making sure he kept his hands in plain sight.

     Ignoring the weapons pointed at him, he explained that he had seen what had happened and after finishing some personal business he came back to see if he could be of assistance. At first the two surviving minors did not want his aid, but he used a quiet voice and was able to convince them that to allow him to help. They finally agreed and he slowly got off his horse, still keeping his hands in plain view. 

     As he helped dig graves for the dead he talked with the survivors finding out that the two had been off hunting when the others were shot. One had heard the shots and had hurried back. He was in time to see someone ride off, but hadn't get a good look at him. The minor didn't know if he had been responsible for this or not. John, who thought that it was good that he had changed his shirt, just nodded. John also learned that only one of the dead had a wife and child waiting for him back home. One other, the youngest, had two parents and some brothers as well as sisters who would be sad to learn of his fate.

     When the dead minors, were buried and a few words said over each grave, they put the dead killer on the back of John's horse. While digging John had explained the he knew where to dispose of the body. John got on his horse and after a farewell he rode off. 

     As he neared the trees he stopped, and said that he had something he had gotten while taking care of his business. It could go the widow of the one dead man. He fished the half blanket out of his saddle bag, dropped it, then hurriedly rode off. He stopped within the trees though.

     One of the two walked over to the bundle, unwrapped it, stood up in surprise, then called his buddy over. The other came over and grasped in surprise when he saw the money, guns and two rings. They bent down probably to examine the revolvers. One was a fine one that officers used in the army. After a discussion John thought they may have decided that they would sell the weapons and rings and add what they got to the cash. They would then give it all to the widow of their friend. It would not bring him back and it would not be as much, as if they had struck it rich, but it should help ease some of her burdens.

     John rode back to where he had left the bodies of the other killers. He dropped the one on the back of his horse. He then went off to take care of some bodily needs, which including eating. It had been hours since he had last taken a bite of food and even though he was still emotionally upset his body insisted he feed it. That was something else he had learned to do 

during the war. To ignore various bodily needs for long periods of time, but at the same time his body did need fuel eventually. Best to feed it when he could. That had come in handy during this reopening of his war wounds. 

     He had ridden off for a good distance so he could eat without any reminders of what he had just been though. When he was done with everything he made his way back to the bodies. They were gone. He thought he heard some horses riding off in the distance, but still checked the surroundings to make sure no one was around. He found no one, but he did find tracks to indicate that seven horses, all with burdens, had ridden off. He decided not to go after them.

     He rode slowly back down the hill and at one point when he came out into a clearing next to a short cliff on the side of the mountain. As he scanned the terrain he noticed seven horses that were being led down another area of the mountain, two had riders while the others had something laying across their saddles. One of the two looked to be assisting the other rider. John hoped that the wounded man would make it Ok. He wondered if the two would keep after the man they hated so much, he surprised himself by hoping that they would find and deal with the person who had cheated them. The man most have gotten some false information to this gang and that is what had set up this rotten, damnable fiasco.  

     John Adler shook his head, his mind still on the fact that  he had thought he had left all this killing behind. Yet he had slipped back into it as easy as he slipped his pants on every day. True his life had been threaten, but that didn't explain how he easy it had been. He thought he had left it far behind him, but it was still there. At least though it had come in handy for something good. Keeping himself alive and stopping a band of marauders with revenge on their minds. With that gang that was a good thing.

     He decided he would have to live with his abilities and the memories of what happened during the war, for the rest of his life. With both just under the surface. He tilted his head, maybe, just maybe, he could after all. After all during this fight his mind had stayed clear of his memories of war. After another pause he gave himself a one quick nod and decided it was time to head home. His wife would be glad to see him, especially when he told her he would be home for a while. He spun his horse around and started back down the trail.

     

                          The End 

New story serial Western part one

May 14 2016

Time for War Wound an action packed Western tale filled with suspense, by me. L. E. Doggett. :)

I originally wrote this one three or four years ago. I have revised it since at least once so I was thinking it wouldn't need that much work. Well, even though it had better writing than the last two stories I posted, it did need a bunch of work. I redid the opening, working for depth, I redid certain scenes adding things to clarify what was happening and so it would make more sense. More of what my hero would do. I also added a couple of animal sightings, more of the five human senses too. Could use a couple more of both though. So in all even though I deleted a few sentences and phrases I added a total of 500 word. And that was just in the first half. 

Over all I think it is one of my better stories with plot and writing but only you readers can say for sure.

I had planned on making this part 2,000 and a couple hundred words but it kept growing, now it is 3,020 words. 

Anyway enjoy:

War Wound

The rider sat on his horse as he surveyed the flat land around him. Nothing but sage, grass and cows. The warm, dry air didn’t bother John Adler even though he kept his hat on to block the sun. He liked to watch the cattle for he enjoyed the quiet out here away from people. Not much to smell out here either, except horse and cow droppings and the sage. Scents from a fire and dinner of rabbit and bread would come later. 
As his habit John and his horse rested still as a snake, waiting for its prey to come into striking range. John Adler had developed the skill, while serving in the Great War. It had come in handy while he carried out special missions behind the Southern lines. John brushed one hand over his blue dungarees, and thought on how his pants and red plaid shirt made him stand out. He shook his head, reminding himself for the thousandth time, that he didn't have to worry about that anymore.
He didn't like to think of the War, but at the same time he was glad he was able to use some of the skills he had developed during that troubled time. 
He slowly moved his head scanning the area. There was nothing, but flat land for miles; without buildings, trees, hills, or even sand dunes to break the flatness. Off to one side was small smudge on the horizon that was a mountain range. 
His horse moved its head up and down, a second later it flipped its tail chasing away some flies.
He straighten his hat, which was a dull light gray, a little darker than the color of his horse. The hat, unlike his clothes, had seen better days. 
On one side of him, far enough away to look one-third their true size, a batch of cows which were grazing. They were part of a larger herd that were located out here in the middle of nowhere.  
John had been hired by the owner to check out the land. It was more a favor John was doing for a friend, even though he was being paid good money. It was the type of job he liked to do these days. Ever since he had resigned his commission just before the war ended, he liked being out in the middle of nowhere. It was peaceful and there was nothing here that would remind him of the war. Much of the fighting he had been involved had been in either mountains and hills, or wooded areas. It was refreshing, for his memories had a disturbing habit of coming to the forefront of his mind when he saw a ravine, or a certain type of hill side. Here they stayed where they should be, in the back of his mind. 
He shook his head, for even these thoughts were enough to remind him of why he had resigned. He had seen too many good men 
die and had killed too many men. Some of the ones he had seen killed came to mind. He had known most personally. There had that kid blown apart by a cannon shot, he hadn't known. He just happened to be looking in the boy's direction when the ball hit him. 
John shook his head again and tired to shake the thoughts by scanning the area again. As he looked in one direction he noticed a very slight movement headed his way. It was very tiny and looked like it was right where the sky met the ground. He sat up and put one hand above his eyes to see if he could get a better look at it. From here it could be anything from a lone rider to a cattle stampede. But as he learned during the war never assume anything. Even here it could be bad.  
As the smudge grew, he began to suspect what it was. He kept his eyes darting back to it, even as he scanned his surroundings to make sure nothing else was headed his way. A minute later his suspicions were confirmed. It was a party of men riding his way, hard. Looked like seven, even though he couldn't be positive. They were too far away for him to be able to tell if he knew them, or not. A few seconds later he was able to see that they rode like an army unit. Either they were the Calvary, or they had served together and rode that way out of habit.
He mentally prepared himself for trouble, even though he didn't know yet if they were friends, a group working for his friend, people just passing though, or if they meant trouble. He thought, by their looks, it would be the last. He had developed that knack on his missions. It had kept him alive more times than he could shake a stick at. 
As they neared him, they continued to ride hard and suddenly one raised an object to his face. It was a long metallic and pointed his way. He heard a slight noise and saw a small puff of dust explode a few yards in front of him. This was immediately followed by two more reports and two more puffs of dust a bit closer as two other riders raised rifles to their face. 
Before the second bullet hit the ground, he had spun his horse around after he decided it was time to leave. They were definitely not friendly-whoever they were. He didn't know why they were shooting at him, but he thought it would not be a good idea to wait around to ask. He knew he would stand no chance against them.
The way they were riding, he would be in their range about the same time he would be able to get his rifle out of its holster. Seven against one was not good odds even if he was a good shot, and he was not the best shot with a rifle. He would hit some but they would get him in the end.
John urged his horse to its full speed, heading for what he thought would be a more strategic ground to make a stand. 
They rode across the plain for half an hour like that. The wind drove past him, just like on many of his missions. Sweat dripped from his horse’s mane. Sweat dripped down his own underarms.  
One lone rider in the lead galloping, just out of rifle shot range, with seven riders chasing him. With quick looks behind him, he still didn’t recognize any of them but the dust that the horses hoofs raised made it hard to make out their faces.  
It didn’t take long for him to increase his lead. His horse was in good shape and it had been rested, while theirs had been ridden hard already. After ten minutes, he judged that he could slow his horse down a bit and still stay in front of them. He didn't want to over tax his horse, it was a good animal. And he may need it later if they acted this determined.
John wanted a drink of water to wash the dust out of his mouth, but had no time for one. He wasn’t that far ahead of them, but he knew how to ignore the needs of his body for a while. He kept an eye on them to make sure they didn't gain on him, nor give up. It would have looked funny for him to be galloping across the plain, like a bat out of hell, without anyone chasing him. Of course he would prefer that to this.
Finally John entered the foothills of the mountains he had seen in the distance. He started up, slowing his horse as he did. They would have to slow also when they reached the hills. The mountains would provide places to hide, as well as obstacles that would make their rifles useless. That was the plan anyway. He knew from experience that plans very rarely worked out the way they were designed to, but they were good to start with. 
As they climbed higher, he slowed his horse even more. He could now smell pine and the dirt his horse’s hoofs tore up. The shade from the trees and large rock made helped to cool him and the horse.
At the first, he had had his horse climb as fast as possible, trying to outdistance them to allow him to lose them. But now it was too steep with too many things to catch a horse’s leg. Two deer took off fast to the right, angling away from his path.
The chasers didn't give him an opportunity to lose them though. He remembered some of the words his team mates used at times like this. These guys were good for they chased him through the foothills and onto the mountain proper. They climbed higher and higher, no matter how far ahead John was, or how long it took, they were not about to give up. Or so it looked to him. 
Forty minutes after entering the mountain, John rounded a very large rock and suddenly entered a camp. There was two fires going, both almost bunt down to goals. The larger fire had a tripod with a large pot hanging from it. There was a rough hewn 
table set up for eating near the fire, along with a smaller table. Four tents had been pitched close to the rear of the camp. Beans cooked from the smell, his stomach rumbled for it had been hours since he had eaten. The burnt wood odors should have warned him earlier. Maybe he was losing it.
It took him a second to look the camp over—he hadn’t lost that ability. Five men sat in the camp. Each wearing thick denim blue pants and thick, dirty gray shirts. All five reacted instantly to his appearance. They stopped what they were doing and faced him, one moved over to where a rifle was laying on the smaller table.
He just nodded neighborly at them and slowed down, trying to act like he was just passing though. Which he was doing.
As he rode passed them his back felt prickly. He knew they were watching him as he rode on. He made sure he rode slow with no nervous twitches to make them think he wasn’t interested in them and their mine. He went around one of the thicker tree therefore out of their sight. A slow, full count to one hundred and he increased his horse's speed a little. When he thought the horse had had a rest he increased its speed again. Out of the camp he could smell his own odors and knew he passed close to where they had dug a latrine. 
A few minutes later John thought he was far enough ahead of the group of men, to be able to find a place to use as a strategic position to shoot it out with them. He could eat some of the bread he had while he waited. He had eaten cold beans, bread, apples while he had waited for the enemy many times too. He sighed, it seemed like he could never escape those thoughts and habits.
That was why he still wanted to lose them eventually, instead of killing them. He had seen too much dying, and had done too much killing to want to do more.
A few seconds after these thoughts he spun his horse around when a shot sounded. Seconds later it was followed by seven, or more real fast. Some were on top of others. 
They had all come from the miners' camp. He cursed as he realized that it was almost the time he estimated that his chasers would have made it to them. He hadn't expected them to shot the miners. There was no reason to, they were after him, not them. He expected them to be more professional then that. Unless of course they were just mad dog killers, who killed because they enjoyed it. There were men on both sides who had to be put down for that reason. But if so why go after him. It made no sense. 
Damn, he needed to make sure. John decided to back track to the camp and see who shot who. It was possible that the miners had overacted after seeing armed men after they had seen him ride through their mining camp. Maybe they fired first. He doubted it but that way he wouldn’t be so responsible for their deaths. 
With three curses he hadn’t used since the War, he left the trail. Even though it had been a long time, the knowledge of how to cover up his tracks came to the forefront of his mind. Once he had left signs that he had gone on and made sure no one would be able to tell he had covered his tracks he headed back to the camp. He rode parallel to the trail keeping himself far enough away so anyone on the trail would not see him. That meant he could not see them either, but he would have to live with that.
When he neared the camp he left his horse just out of eyesight of the camp. Again using skills he had learned long ago he moved closer to the camp. He moved over to where he thought the latrine was. The smell would cover his own and less chance of running into someone. No one was about though, and he finally 
entered the camp itself. The stink of blood was obvious, it mostly over came the burnt beans odor too. He scanned the woods carefully and when he was sure no one was around, he went over to the bodies. All five miners were dead, but so was one of his chasers. Good. As he examined the area, he found evidence that another chaser had been wounded. From the drops of blood, he couldn't be sure how bad, but it didn't look serious.
When he was done examining the ground, he took one more look around. One last look at the bodies he sadly shook his head, and he disappeared back into the trees. He walked back to his horse normally, forgoing the catlike movements he had used, for there was no need. The chasers had gone on, he must have missed them on the way back down. They would soon figure out that he had tricked them and be looking for him.
Mounting his horse John decided that he would have to do something about the men chasing him, after all. Bile came up. He had hoped he could just loose them, but now, after this act that was no longer an option. Of course he probably would have had to deal with them anyway. He had been just hoping against hope, that he would not have to kill again. He would do what needed doing.
He didn't like leaving the bodies like that, but he didn't have a choice right now. As he rode off, he hoped that they didn't have any families that would wonder what had happened to them.
Just before he went in-between two trees, he turn quickly when a twig snapped back at the camp. Had he missed one of the chaser? The wounded one maybe. But why hadn’t he taken advantage of when John had examined the ground. 
Now he thought he saw someone back by the camp and decided it was time to hurry. He spurred his horse to a medium speed, heading the direction he thought his chasers would go. 
A few seconds later he heard a slight metallic noise behind him. He turned in the saddle to look behind him. As he did he saw someone standing near the camp. No, two people. They looked as if they were dressed as the miners had been. John turned his horse slightly and angled away from the camp making sure there were trees between him and the camp. 
On the way to find those who were chasing him John not only kept his eyes open, but his ears also. During the war he had learned that sometimes you would hear something before you saw it. Even a small noise could give away someone trying to sneak up on you. And animals would run. He had seen a few squirrels-the miners might have been eating them-and one deer along the way but they could be bear here too. 
A few minutes later he heard another slight sound behind him, he again angled away from his current course. He urged his horse to increase its speed and aimed it in between to larger trees that were fairly close to each other. The distance between the trees was narrow, barely wide enough to allow his horse fit in between them. Once he was through the trees he made a quick turn to the right followed by a quicker one to the left. He curved around another tree, this one was over two feet wide. 
He heard a small explosion behind him and out of the corner of one eye he saw a tiny spray of bark as something impacted on the tree next to him. He spurred his horse on, going back and forth. He went around one four foot wide tree, went straight for a while then around another almost as big. Once on the other side of that one he rode up a short hill, once at the top he looked down.
He saw three men on horseback who were tying to sneak though the trees while at the same time looking for something. He figured the something was him. He saw one of them glance his way. 
John glanced down at his clothes. He cursed—silently--again. He had forgotten he was wearing a red plaid shirt. That wasn't good at all, he must be standing out like a Yankee among Johnny Rebs.
More gun shots.

end part one