Chapter 1
February 16, 1875
Moccasin Bend, Texas
Nathan Watts cradled a worn and pitted twelve-gauge double-barreled shotgun in his arms and crawled his way through dense thorny briers when he caught a glimpse of a cottontail nestled in brown dusty patches of wild blackberry bushes. He lifted himself to his knees and angled his weapon and focused on the bead at the end of his barrel and the vermin in front. The rabbit unaware gnawed on long prairie grass. Nathan did not take notice of the dangerous monster from the north, the wind gusted, and branches rattled. Nathan aligned the scattergun to his dominant right eye. The cottontail froze, ears perked. He cocked the hammer of the right barrel, drew in a breath. The hare leaped in the air as he yanked the trigger. The blast echoed, and the gun burrowed deep into Nathan’s shoulder. He winced as lead pellets blew a hole in the briar patch. Nathan opened his eyes, and the rabbit was nowhere in sight.
“Damn,” he wiped the sweat from his forehead, humid and much too warm for late winter.
He adjusted his stained hat and lifted himself, brushed the dirt from his pants and removed thorns and made his way to where he last spotted the critter, no blood trail, nothing, a clean miss. An ominous rumble he noticed the black clouds above as they swirled, dipped and rose to heaven, like some massive dark spirit, He felt small.
“Nathan!” the voice carried in the still air. His father on horseback at full gallop, a bright sky transformed to midnight, while a wall of rain marched towards their position. The horse reared and came to a stop.
“Damn son. You need to raise year head once in an awhile,” he reached down. “We need to get the hell out of here,”
Nathan grasped his arm. He lifted his son onto the back of Bo, a five-year-old chestnut stallion, and yanked the reins to the right, and redirected his beast home with a swift slap. Nathan held tight to his father’s waist. The steed carried them across fields, hooves glided over prairie grass until they entered a bank of trees. The rain came down in sheets and soaked them to the bone. He maneuvered past trees and brush. Whenever they came to a clearing, he pushed Bo faster. Oaks swayed by a relentless push of air. Nathan felt his father’s ribs and pressed his head on his father’s back unaware they were near home. Rain transformed to hail. Ice came down from the sky, and it stung their bare skin. An old chicken coop, crumbled by time and weather marked the edge of Watts’s property.
Salina waited, arms folded, rainwater glistened on her ebony flesh, her blue and white dress drenched. She stood next to the old root cellar. He dismounted in full stride, stopped his horse, placed his son on the muddy ground, then redirected Bo and gave him a hard slap on the buttocks. The horse reared and disappeared into the forest. Over the wooded trail, a snake-shaped cloud rotated from heaven. The wind twirled and lowered, a monster touched the earth, and dirt and trunks of trees mixed with branches flew in the air. Jake dragged his son to the root cellar and pushed him into the river stone structure. Nathan ducked to avoid the timber rafters above. Salina followed, and then his father lowered the door and slid the bolt closed. Dark, cold, and moist, the pungent air of decayed corn, Salina placed her arm around Nathan who held tight to his father, he listened while she said a quiet prayer. Nathan never knew what became of his mother and as time wore on, she mattered less and less. Salina, an emancipated slave, became an ideal fit, Nathan needed a mother, and she needed something.
“Are we going to be alright Pa?”
“Yes, son.”
Giant balls of ice hammered the cellar door then stopped. An uneasy stillness followed, Nathan knew it was anything but over. Silence replaced by a strange hiss similar to steam escaping a teapot or a massive snake and it grew stronger. He tightened his grip and Salina stroked his straight brown hair. The noise continued, Nathan counted the seconds and then the sound dissipated and faded. Rain began again. Jake unlatched the large door and pushed it open. The sky lightened. Drops still fell, softer than before. Jake surveyed the surrounding countryside. His timber home and barn still stood, no damage, He concentrated on the forest towards the northern edge of his property.
“Papa our home is alright.”
“Thank the Lord,” Salina said.
“Did not miss us by much,” Jake pointed to a wide path torn in the forest. Trees scattered, tossed aside, tops faced opposite directions lined the storm’s trek and red earth torn like an open wound.
“What about Bo, where is he, what are we going to do?”
“He will find his way home, son,”
Nathan kicked the wet ground.
“Well, I guess I should check on the neighbors, make sure they’re alright. I reckon we could search for Bo too.”
Nathan smiled.
“I’ll have dinner ready when you all return. Be careful and watch out for snakes,” Salina smiled.
“Alright...Will you be able to keep up with me boy?”
“I’ll keep up,”
They followed the broken trail, boots sank in the russet muck, to either side scattered and broken trees lay splintered as if an enormous giant befell this way. About a mile, the trail grew thin and a half-mile later, they came across the scattered remains of Cohan’s barn. Shattered slats and rafters littered the ground. A gruesome sight of dead livestock, chickens with bodies twisted and mangled some with feathers plucked naked strewn across a brown field. A corpse of a mule lay beneath some rubble.
“Sheriff, I’m happy to see you haven’t blown away,” a familiar voice from behind said.
Elijah Cohan walked across the pasture.
“How’s your family?” Jake asked.
“They’re just fine…I have never seen a storm so powerful this early in the year.”
“Yeah unusual for sure, saw it dip down out of the clouds.”
“Most of the cattle are accounted for, lost a few chickens, and old Moly was killed…wonder if this means we will have an early spring?”
“I doubt it…any damage to your home?”
“No, we were fortunate, that’s for sure.”
“I am glad to see you are all right…Bo ran off during the storm. Did you happen to see him?”
Elijah smiled and said, “take a look over by the tree line?” He pointed north at the far end of the field.
Bo grazed near a large oak tree. “Damn,” Jake smacked his lips and walked towards the horse, the brown leather saddle twisted to his side. Bo’s ears perked as the horse trotted towards his master.
“You are lucky Jake. It appears he faired the storm well.”
Jake did a quick scan and glided his hand along the horse’s side, a bit covered in mud but no injuries. “You are a lucky boy.”
A rider emerged from the wilderness, Virgil McMillian, a seventeen-year-old boy who lived three miles west of the Watt’s homestead rode at full speed on his painted mare. Out of breath he struggled to speak, he stopped the beast, and it flared up its hind legs.
“Sheriff, Sheriff It’s an ugly sight an ugly sight indeed.”
“An ugly sight…what the hell are you babbling about son?”
“Sir, the twister, it ripped across Moccasin Creek and torn it open it did,” Virgil caught his breath. “Dug up bones, bones everywhere, human bones.”
“What the hell...where?”
“About two miles west on the northern bank, west of Goat man’s bridge,” He pointed towards the forest.
“Nothing is buried by the creek, nothing I know of.”
“Yes sir, nonetheless skeletons are all over the place,” he paused, wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his dirty shirt.
“How many?”
“Truly don’t know. Those bones are scrambled all yonder.”
He straightened the saddle on Bo and tightened the leather strap, and checked the stirrups. He swung his body over the stallion.
“I better go check it out,” he looked down at Nathan. “You go right home, you hear,” he said in a stern voice.
Nathan kicked a rock. “I want to go with you, Pa.”
“No, go home to Salina, she’s fixing dinner. I need to check this out,” he faced Elijah.
“You take care now.”
“You too Sheriff,” Elijah tipped his hat.
With a gentle kick Jake disappeared into the forest, Virgil followed, and Nathan stood at the edge of the woods and wished he could go with him. The sun began to set.
Two hours elapsed. The blackness of night settled across the land. Salina fed Nathan pork stew for dinner and kept the pot simmering for Jake’s return. Nathan waited next to the west window. The dim light from candles gave Salina enough brightness to work on her knitting, and she rocked in her favorite chair. Nathan spotted his father’s horse in the shadows and ran to greet him. Jake dismounted and led Bo to the stable. Nathan stood by the barn door, and Jake rubbed his son’s head as they both went inside. The aroma of the night’s dinner lingered. Salina fixed a plate as Jake sat at the table.
“Papa, was Virgil right? Are there human bones by the creek?” Nathan sat in the seat across from his father.
Jake swallowed a large piece of pork. “Yes, son Virgil was right, there are bones out there alright.”
“Who are they?”
“Somebody’s darling.”
“What happened to them?”
“Appears they were shot, holes that I can fit my finger through in their skulls. I don’t know why they were killed or who did this to those poor souls.”
Jake stood from his chair, walked over to his coat that hung on the wall, dug into his pocket, withdrew something which filled his hand and returned to the table, and placed the object in front of Nathan. At first, Nathan thought the object was a piece of ironstone, crusted orange rust formed in the shape of a gun. The barrel protruded from the orange lump, it was about seven inches, cylinder locked like a rock, handle gone, skeletal outline where the grip once resided.
“I found this next to one of the skeletons,” he lifted the piece by the edge of the grip frame. This is a forty-four caliber Remington, 1863 model. I’ve seen scores of these during the war.”
