DARK WALKER OF THE PLAINS: THE RIDERS OF THE STORM BOOK ONE

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Chapter #4: Town of Eerie

The town of Eerie..... The place of resting souls wandering and weary, there was a wayfaring Abbot that preached to the fallen as a matter of habit.....

This frontier town, it was not your ordinary every day shoot them and rack them; luck of the draw, aces high and jokers wild kind of place.....

The residents here, they sought change of days; for in many another town, they are no longer capable of showing their face.....

Booming with the wild promises in mined riches of silver and of gold.....

The town was now drawing on many an outlaw, entrepreneur, and slinger of guns young and old..... There revolvers and their pipes known for frequently smoking, their minds in personality of attitude most aggressive and bold.....

"..... Repent, repent all ye sinners..... Repent, purge your minds of sin, of your temptations; your lives now spent....."

It now came to the Abbot, in a vision. A walker of death carrying with it the foulness of evils risen.....

"..... The walker, it comes to smite thee..... death drudging across the plains..... No mortal bullet will slay it, for the walker is immune to death and to sickness, and to mortal pains....."

The town sheriff, now looked from the wayward preacher man shaking his head, the holy man's words; no realized mentions actually reaching..... The lawman's new concerns, three rough looking riders entering the town's gates..... Outlaws, three of the worst..... The first three to be followed by three more..... the six calling on a right to claim against the shareholders' fates.....

Bloody Black Bart handed his guns over to the sheriff's deputies, and demanded that his gang do the same..... The man's face sporting an Indian slash mark on his right cheek, the mark- a semblance in recognition of his name.....

"..... I'm here for feast and for suds, and for a claim of the gold; not for killing and for drawing of man's blood...."

The Black Bart Gang rode slowly past the sheriff respectively, their steeds reigned to a trot. Bart tipped his hat on the sheriff's presence, his mind on whiskey and on whores; on woman and on lace.....

The sheriff turned about to enter his office, the man not one word to say..... Bloody Black Bart looked upon him from afar, his right index finger pointed as his thumb raised, a symbol in notion of pending roles that are already in play.....



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