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

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Chapter #7: The Durango

The wayward travelers saloon..... The Durango of Dry Gulch..... It drew on many a rider for drink and for mulch.....

The most curious of riders, the man no scars to share. No tells of his origins to be made, no honors does he bear..... This one sat drinking whiskey alone, his coat drenched from the down pour; the smell of rain upon his hair.....

"..... Must have traveled quite a ways stranger....."

"..... Yeah, quite a ways..... My horse, it carried me like the wind..... The rains falling clearing the squalling air....."

Two gunslingers labeled outlaws, burst through the salon's swinging gates.....

"..... Devil walker, it stalks us..... Evil in its eyes, death on its face....."

The stranger looked hard upon the two. Both men unaware of their mark. The man downed his whiskey without a fuss, his tab paid with multiple coins shining new.....

"..... That's quite a story, one hell of a lark....." Spoke the tender as he stared on the two.

Rising from his feet, the stranger drew on the outlaws fast.

"..... Wait mister...... we didn't do anything to you..... What we did is in the past....."

"..... Matters not, to the evil that stalks you..... The marks upon your heads, he will forever see..... Up to you..... death by the devil, or gunned down by me....."

The Walker of the Plains entered the saloon slowly. The saloon keeper screamed on the walkers' death of visage's sight.....

"..... Shit!" The stranger now reached for his second gun. Two thundering Colt Peacekeepers were now in for the fight.

"..... Down outlaws! Now I have to protect you both, all though it isn't right....."

The Walker looked silently on the rider, for it new he was number three. Unexpected was his presence. Of their interference The Walker had not foreseen.....

The rider moved like the wind, the two outlaws tossed quickly behind the bar.....

"..... Guard them with your life from this evil thing..... From its reach, they cannot run far....."

Shaking the saloon keeper reached for a shotgun, her unsteady aim of little concern; for the rider of win and of thunder alone, knows of their fates to be discerned.....

The rider fired twice on the walker. Once in the head and one more time in its exposed shoulder joint of bone. The forces behind the impacts elemental forged, water throwing the walker free from the zone.....

"..... Lock the place down..... The Walker, it will not get past me..... Lightning is coming fast, and she is a lot less friendly than I can ever be....."

The saloon keeper looked to the swinging gates. the rider pulled back the hammers to his revolvers for the next engagement of tested fates..... The Walker of the Plains, it was gone their safety will now be dependent on those with iron cast cell-work gates.....



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