Moccasin Track: (Threads West, An American Saga Book 4)
480
Moccasin Track: (Threads West, An American Saga Book 4)
480Paperback
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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780982157640 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Rockin' SR Publishing |
| Publication date: | 08/08/2019 |
| Series: | Threads West, An American Saga Series , #4 |
| Pages: | 480 |
| Sales rank: | 180,161 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.40(w) x 8.50(h) x 1.40(d) |
| Age Range: | 3 Months to 18 Years |
About the Author
"If your mind and spirit are seduced by images of windswept ridge tops, flutters of aspen leaves caressed by a canyon breeze and the crimson tendrils of dying sun...if your fingers feel the silken pulse of a lover and your lips taste the deep kisses of building desire...if nostrils flare with the conjured scents of gunpowder and perfume, sage brush and pine, and your ears delight in the murmur of river current...if your heart pounds at the clash of good and evil and with each twist and turn of interwoven lives you feel a primal throb, then I have accomplished my mission."~Reid Lance Rosenthal
Passion fuels each thrilling, history, action and romance-packed novel in this widely acclaimed five-generation epic series of the historical and contemporary American west. Threads West has been compared to L'Amour, and Centennial, and some call the series, the "Gone With The Wind of the West."
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
CHOICE OF TRAILS
June 26, 1855
Two hundred ninety-one miles southwest of where Lucy and Israel lay huddled close to a fire at the base of Rabbit Ears Pass, Rebecca, eyes closed, felt the warm press of Reuben's chest against her back, and the comforting drape of his thigh over the flare of her hip. The smell of sage and sulfur, of tanned leather and soft smoke, mingled with the scent of their bodies, spent in the afterglow of their loving.
Reuben was snoring gently, his chest and legs molded to the length of her under the buffalo robe that covered them, one hand gently covering her breast. She sighed languidly. What a pleasant dream.
Her eyes fluttered open. A few feet away, a finger of smoke rose in gray spirals from the embers in the lodge fire.
Suddenly, she was fully awake, eyes wide open. My God. It wasn't a dream! Pulling her left hand slowly from the robe, she stared at her finger and the reed of grass Reuben had woven into a ring as they had relaxed in the hot springs, her body still straddling his, both of them almost faint with the pleasure and heat of their coupling.
Mrs. Rebecca Elizabeth Frank. Mrs. Rebecca Elizabeth Frank. Her lips formed the words silently as her eyes roved the inside of the tipi, its textured, tan, hide walls surreal, but calming. Her lips curled in a smile as her gaze came to rest on the white doeskin wedding dress crumpled on top of Reuben's clothing.
Tucking her shoulders gently into his chest, she pressed his hand more firmly around her breast, her other hand reaching down to rest on the slight mound of her belly. Where our child grows.
Reuben stirred behind her. "Good morning, Mistress Marx ..." Pausing, he laughed softly. "Mrs. Frank, my wife." His lips moved feather-like, his words a warm whisper of breath on her neck.
"Good morning, Mr. Frank." she sighed. "I woke just a short time ago. I thought I was dreaming." She pressed his hand against her breast again, "but I'm glad I'm not."
A thought struck her, and her body jerked.
"I just realized, Mr. Frank, that after months together from the time you were such a bore on the Edinburgh," she giggled, "this is the first full night we have ever spent together, in the same bed."
His lips trailing down the nape of her neck, Reuben chuckled into the smooth skin between her shoulder blades, "Never thought of that. You're right, Rebecca."
Her voice shy and husky, Rebecca whispered, "I ... I love it when you take me, Reuben."
He laughed softly, into her hair. "I do believe, Mrs. Frank, that is you who took me."
Giggling, she raised his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. "You may be right, Reuben, and no apologies about it. I shall do so again." Her smile was hidden from him, but not her meaning. And again, and again and again.
"I don't know, Rebecca; a ranch is hard work. Building it from scratch, clawing a home out of an unknown wilderness will be a monumental task. We must get a roof overhead before winter, corrals for the animals, a fence around the homestead, figure out some way to get hay up and stored for winter feed, stock food for the winter, cut wood for the fire and the long cold months that will be coming." His tone was teasing. "It will be sunup to sundown and then some, until the snow flies. ... Even then ..." his voice trailed off, "we will be tired."
"Well then, my husband, I suggest you reserve some energy each day."
* * *
A boot scraped the grass just outside the flap of the lodge. Reuben tensed, reaching for his pistol, then relaxed as someone cleared his throat outside the tipi, and Johannes's voice filtered through the skins. "Don't want to interrupt, but we need to talk. I have a note that was shoved in the flap of your saddlebag. You need to read it."
"What time is it?" Reuben sat up, rolling the hide off him, his eyes searching for his britches.
"The sun is halfway to noon. We all stirred a bit late this morning after the festivities last night."
Such a serious tone. "Who's the note from?"
There was a moment of silence from outside the tipi. Reuben, standing, britches hurriedly pulled up, paused in the buttoning of his shirt.
Rebecca was sitting now, worry and puzzlement etched in her eyebrows, her fingers nervously kneading the edge of the robe she was clutching.
Reuben strode to her. Kneeling, he put one hand on each of her shoulders and bent his lips to hers in a short but tender kiss. Rising, Reuben took three rapid steps to the door of the lodge, quickly untied the flap and stepped outside, closing the flap and tying it behind him. Straightening, he turned to the tall Dane. Johannes's lips were tightly pressed, his eyes narrowed.
Turning abruptly, Johannes walked quickly toward the horses, his long-legged strides purposeful, despite his limp.
Reuben hurried after him keeping his eyes fixed on the back of his friend. Seventy-five yards from the tipi and halfway to the horses, Johannes wheeled back to him. The pale green leaves of the quaking aspen that rimmed the meadow shimmered in the cool morning breeze. As if hearing Reuben's unspoken question, he answered, "You just need to read it for yourself, Reuben." The lanky Dane's eyes fixed on his. He reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew a folded piece of paper and handed it to Reuben.
Squinting against the brightness of the midmorning sun, Reuben unfolded the paper. His hands shook, and he could feel Johannes's eyes on him as he read. The scroll was penciled, all capitalized, blocky, and awkward, distinctively darkened at various points in the print as the writer had obviously sharpened the pencil with a penknife.
REUBEN
THIS AIN'T ANY KIND OF NOTICE, BUT I HAVE TO PICK UP AND GO. NEED ALONE TIME BACK ON THE MOUNTAIN. YOUR TRAIL SAVVY AND WOULDN'T BE NEEDIN' ME MUCH, ANYWAY. YOU GOT ONLY TWO CHOICES IN TRAILS. TALK TO OURAY BEFORE YOU CHOSE. HE HAD SCOUTS OUT TO CHECK ON THE SHORTCUT TRAIL OVER THAT MOUNTAIN JUST WEST OF HERE. MIGHT BE TOUGH GOING FOR THE WAGONS EVEN IF IT'S PASSABLE. IF IT AIN'T, THE OTHER TRAIL, LIKE WE TALKED BEFORE, HEADS NORTH AND DOWN TO THAT DELTA COUNTRY BY THE OLD FORT UNCOMPAHGRE. FIVE, MAYBE MORE DAYS IF YOU BACKTRACK THE ONLY OTHER WAY BACK TO WOLF CREEK, THE ANIMUS AND OVER RED MOUNTAIN PASS. THAT COUNTRY GETS PILES OF SNOWS AND MIGHT BE BLOCKED, TOO. THE DELTA TRAIL WILL BE ANOTHER 7 TO 10 DAYS. JUST FOLLOW THE UNCOMPAHGRE RIVER UPSTREAM FROM THERE. EAST BANK LIKELY BETTER FOR THE WAGONS, BUT CROSSINGS ONCE IN A WHILE ARE FOR SURE. RIVER WILL BE HIGH, SO PICK YOUR SPOTS. AS THE VALLEY NARROWS, KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED WEST. YOU'LL SEE WHERE DALLAS CREEK COMES IN. YOUR MAP SHOWS IT PLAIN. I RECKON YOU CAN FIND A CROSSING AND HEAD UPSTREAM TO FIND YOU A SPOT.
MIGHT BE WE CROSS PATHS SUM TIME UP THERE. MAYBE NOT. BUT SPIRIT WILL BE WITH YOU. GIVE MY GOODBYES TO THE REST. CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU AND THE MISSUS.
ZEBARRIAH TAYLOR
Reuben slowly lowered the paper. Raising his eyes, he returned Johannes's stare, "It says ..."
Johannes cut him off, "I know. I read it."
"Where ...?"
Johannes finished the question for him. "Where and how did he go?"
"Philippe found his tracks headed north, Buck and the mules at a gallop. Disappeared into the trees over there," Johannes nodded with his chin. "I searched every saddlebag thinking maybe he left word. Found this in yours."
There was a long silence, the two men looking at one another. "I have Michael and Philippe out gathering cows, as you've already gleaned, and I've talked to Ouray. Seems his scouts say heavy snows up higher have caused snow slides — big ones. They've downed some trees, and at some point, the shortcut trail becomes impassable."
Breathing a long sigh, Reuben straightened his shoulders. "Well, we sure as hell don't want to backtrack up the pass. Based on what Ouray told you, the nearest shortcut is impassable and seems to me if Zeb was headed north down to the delta country, that's the way we ought to go. We don't have much choice in trails."
Johannes's eyes searched his face. "Going to be short one hand, and I'm still not hundred percent." He gestured at his leg where the grizzly had mauled it.
Reuben shrugged. "It is what it is. We have fences and corrals to build, a barn to put up and a hell of a lot of work to do before the snow flies. Maybe we can pick up a hand around that old fort there at the junction of the Uncompahgre and the Gunnison."
"I agree, my Prussian friend." His eyes locked on Reuben's, his lips thin and compressed. "There may be no choice in trails, but trails always offer choices."
Turning away from Reuben, Johannes walked toward the horses, his limp more pronounced, calling out over his shoulder, "I've already saddled Lahn for you. I'll ride out and find Michael and Philippe, and make sure the damn cattle are bunched. You get the women moving."
Reuben stood for a moment watching the retreating back of his friend. Trails always offer choices? What did he mean by that?
CHAPTER 2NORTH PARK
June 27, 1855
Two hundred eighty-one miles northeast of where Zeb and Buck rode south to the Red Mountains, clouds scurried in shape-changing billows across a narrow window of deep blue sky formed by the high, heavily treed ridges surrounding Lucy, Israel and the mule.
The scent of pine, fir and spruce faded, then intensified, before fading again, high altitude perfume driven by spurts of waffling breeze flowing down the incline toward them from the west.
Israel stopped and breathed in deeply, awed by the view. From the hands of God.
"See them rocks?" he exclaimed, pointing at twin spires of gray and brown stone that rose from the dense conifers at the top of the mountain to the east.
"Israel, I ain't interested in no rocks. My knee is hurtin' bad, and this ol' mule is wheezing like a broken fire bellows, even without my fat self on her."
"Well, Lucy, first of all, you ain't fat, and if we go slow, she will be okay. Why don't you climb back on and ride for a while? We're way high up. Air's thin. But if that map that captain drew for us is halfway right, we're close to the top. Those spires? Might be the Rabbit Ears he told us about."
Israel held up the page of the map that depicted this leg of their journey for her to see, but she shook her head. Her lips were trembling, and her eyes watery. One of her hands rested for support on the gray shoulders of the old mule.
"I know that climb was god-awful tough and long, wife. But it will be easier going downhill."
Taking a step to her, he wrapped a thin arm around her shoulders and pressed his cheek against hers, "Should be warmer and less wind down low, too." He could see in her eyes when she looked up at him, her lips compressed, that she was trying to still her shaking.
"Let me help you on, Sally." He bent, lacing his long, dark bony fingers together as a step. Lucy's first attempts to lift her foot failed, and he had to lower his hands until she finally got one foot up. Pressing his palms around the side of her worn boot, Israel noticed there were tears where the leather had separated from the sole. Her feet must be wet.
"Okay, Lucy, you pull yourself with your arms on Sally's neck, and I'll ease your foot slow and sure till you get that other leg over."
Facing the mule, Lucy placed both worn hands on the animal's neck. Israel rose slowly, pushing with his legs, taking care not to put too much strain on his back as he lifted her. Gradually, after several wheezing attempts, she was astride the mule.
Resting for a moment, Israel leaned against her leg, patting her thigh. "We'll go nice and slow, not work Sally too hard." He smiled, trying to make his voice enthusiastic. "We get us over that crest up ahead, and then we be on our way down to the bottom. Maybe, we'll go a little bit out of our ways. ... Don't seem like far on the map, maybe a mile or less to that Northgate Canyon. I'll catch us some fish at the river, and we can have ourselves a big old supper, rest up before we head further. See if we can find those hot springs. Maybe spend a few days there and let you soak."
Lucy wagged her head side to side, her lips still a thin line, her teary eyes narrowed. The mule, looking at him reproachfully, with one ear forward and one ear back, whistled out a low bray.
"I don't wanna go out of our way, Israel. I just want to get where we be going. And I am praying we get off this mountain quick."
Israel sighed. "If ya gotta pray, pray for a gun. We'll be a whole lot safer and way less hungry."
Rubbing the mule's muzzle, Israel forced a smile. "That's right, Sally, you be due for some rest too."
Turning, he caught the lead rope, took a deep breath and began to walk in short, slow uphill steps west again.
CHAPTER 3HEADIN' TOWARD THE PROMISE
June 27, 1855
Fifty-two miles northwest of where Johnson's broken body lay buried in the avalanche, Black Feather tightened the reins on the black stallion's hackamore just enough to slow the animal's long-stride gait.
Looking over his shoulder, he called out to Dot, "What are you doing? Stay ten, no more than twenty, feet behind. Things can go wrong in a hurry."
The girl had been looking down at her hands swaying with the movement of her horse. She nodded, saying nothing, and dug her heels gently into the flanks of the mare. The horse sped up slightly.
Black Feather kept his eyes on her. Been like this since we found Johnson all broke up in the avalanche. Almost like that day on the Poudre, when ... he swallowed, clenching his teeth, when I killed her ma and pa. Something turned over in his gut.
Cursing silently, he put full rein on the stallion, bringing the horse to a halt. The black shook his head defiantly. When Dot had closed the distance, he gestured for her to ride up beside him.
"I know it's been slow going down the back side of Cameron — snow and mud and slick, and stopping to work on that leg of yours." He pointed at the valley below them, "That would be what they call North Park, that big flat sage area. All sorts of water down there, the Grizzly, the Michigan, lots of others and the North Platte. You like to fish?"
Dot looked at him, her blue eyes vacant. She shook her head. He needed to settle her down again, check the snakebite, hunt up some deer meat.
"Well, fishing can be fun," he said. "Trout are mighty tasty fried up in fat with a bit of flour, and wild scallions if you can find them." Her face remained impassive.
Swinging forward in the saddle, Black Feather raised his arm, pointing. "East is where Fox Ridge comes down near Northgate Canyon. Those big white mountains way out, the Indians call the Rawah." He swung his arm toward the center of the valley. "If you squint real hard, you'll see some old trapper cabins. No one had been there for a spell last time I was through. Them jagged mountains behind is called Zirkel." He rotated left, his finger pointing past the distant cabins. "Out there, on the other side of the Buffaloes, smaller creeks flow down toward the Yampa. There's a bunch of side canyons, good water and cover where we can hole up for a couple days. I can doctor that leg of yours. Water will be clearer high up. We can catch some fish. Maybe I can arrow a deer, too. How does that sound?"
The girl just stared at him, as if not seeing him. Turning away, Black Feather let out a long, involuntary exhale, hoping she didn't notice.
Resting his hands on the saddle pommel, he thought for a minute, the stallion impatiently shifting weight beneath him. "You liked Johnson, didn't you, Dot?"
The girl looked at him, surprise showing through the tears welling in her eyes. She nodded, biting her lip.
"Thought so. I miss him, like you do. That was a tough deal back up there in that snow slide." He paused. "Guess you ought to know ..." Black Feather caught himself, "... before he died, he and I made a promise to each other, and to you." The corner of the girl's mouth twitched, and one of her eyebrows raised slightly between strands of dirty blonde hair. "And where we're heading is so I can keep that promise."
A look of curious interest flitted across the girl's dirty, smudged features.
"You follow me close. Give that mare her lead and let her pick her way along behind the black. We're gonna follow these contours heading northwest, staying in these trees as much as we can. We'd stand out like red flags down in that sage, easy to spot for miles."
He flicked the reins across the sides of the stallion's neck. "Let's go, then."
CHAPTER 4IN SPIRIT'S HANDS
June 27, 1855
As Black Feather's stallion and Dot's mare picked their way west through the scattered firs and pine along the south rim of North Park, four hundred miles to the east, Walks With Moon stood slowly from her squatted stance, leaning forward only slightly not to strain her rounded belly. Heat from the midday sun radiated off the slender tips of fescue and needlegrass stirred by a slight breeze whispered down the slopes of the shallow valley.
Stepping back a few paces, her hands on her hips, she cocked her head, surveying the bow length, thin, stout, green alder branches lashed at the top, their lower ends spread out like a toy tipi. Her eyes shifted to the buffalo hide stretched out three paces by four paces and then to the pile of coarse, semi-rotten wood stacked feet away. Brushing one forearm against her forehead to keep the trickles of sweat from her eyes, she squinted at the sun.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Moccasin Track"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Writing Dream LLC.
Excerpted by permission of Rockin' SR Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Introduction,
Thoughts From The Author,
Prelude,
The Threads West Saga Maps,
The Threads West Saga Characters,
Book One, Threads West, An American Saga,
Book Two, Maps of Fate,
Book Three, Uncompahgre, where water turns rock red,
The Heroic Horses of the Threads West Saga,
The Unfolding Saga of Threads West – The Arc of the Tale, Books One, Two and Three,
Book One — Threads West, An American Saga, the Story Arc,
Book Two — Maps of Fate, the Story Arc,
Book Three — Uncompahgre, Where Water Turns Rock Red, the Story Arc,
The Saga Continues with Book Four, Moccasin Track,
CHAPTER ONE CHOICE OF TRAILS,
CHAPTER TWO NORTH PARK,
CHAPTER THREE HEADIN' TOWARD THE PROMISE,
CHAPTER FOUR IN SPIRIT'S HANDS,
CHAPTER FIVE FERVENT WISH,
CHAPTER SIX ITALIANO,
CHAPTER SEVEN ZION,
CHAPTER EIGHT THE BAIT,
CHAPTER NINE OLD SCORES,
CHAPTER TEN OF HORSES AND FISH,
CHAPTER ELEVEN ANSWER TO A PRAYER,
CHAPTER TWELVE THE HOMESTEAD,
CHAPTER THIRTEEN NOTCHING LOGS,
CHAPTER FOURTEEN TRAIL OF QUARTZ,
CHAPTER FIFTEEN THE GOODBYE,
CHAPTER SIXTEEN ECHOES IN THE ASPEN,
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN NO WAY HOME,
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN SIGNS,
CHAPTER NINETEEN TWO TRAILS DIVERGED,
CHAPTER TWENTY THE BLACK ROCK,
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE SACRIFICE,
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO MOCCASIN TRACK,
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE SADDLEBAGS,
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR PATCHED,
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE AWAKENING,
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX FORT LARAMIE,
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN ONE, BOTH, OR NONE,
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT GOLDEN LATITUDE,
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE STAKING CLAIMS,
CHAPTER THIRTY TEMPORARY TRUCE,
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE THE RIVER'S WHISPER,
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO THE LIEUTENANT AND THE SCHOOL GIRL,
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE LEGACY,
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR AIN'T NO WAY,
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE EMANCIPATION,
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX PROMISE OF THE UTE,
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN SECRETS,
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT SPIRIT PROVIDES,
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE CALL OF THE WAPITI,
CHAPTER FORTY RESOLVED TO RESOLVE,
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE DIVIDED LOYALTIES,
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO UNANTICIPATED,
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE A CONSIDERED DELAY,
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR NO COINCIDENCES,
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE FIRST CALVES,
