Book # 3 - 105 pages (estimated)

 Where A Real Man Rides

CHAPTER I

He rode into town a lonely man, carrying a heavy sorrow in his broken heart. Just a quick stop to stock up on grub and something special for his line back dun…the only thing left of his past that he loved, unless it was his Sharps rifle or razor edged knife. But no, they were not things he loved, rather extensions of his own body, as much a part of him as his own hands and feet. But the dun he truly loved, for they had been a far piece together and seemed to know each other’s thoughts and act as one. This had saved him more than once over the years, and would again though he didn’t yet know trouble was coming his way.

But when you ride into a town full of people you’re asking for some kind of trouble. Every town has the same types as the last one, the good hard working folks, the loafers looking for a handout, the would-be important gents who were really pawns in another more powerful man’s hands, and the liars, cheats, and thieves. But worst are the hypocrites that pretend to be good citizens and honest businessmen who find ways to twist the law into their favor for financial profit, at the expense of others. It’s not that way out in the wild mountains and deserts among the whispering pines and cacti. Although a lion or snake may decide you’re fair game, they show themselves honestly for what they are…never deceiving you in the guise of a fresh shave and fancy suit coat with a silver tongue.

As Matt rode into this little town in what would one day be Northern Arizona to get supplies, he knew well the nature of men and was already anxious to be on his way back to the wilderness where he had hidden in peaceful solitude since the day he’d lost all that was dear to him in life. He hoped he could get in and out without more than a few polite words to the storekeeper, for he had no desire to mingle with men or to visit a woman…although, every man he met just naturally wanted to employ him to their cause. And women, well they all wanted him too. In a world where most men are mangy self serving dogs, Matt was a living dream, so kind, gentle, and thoughtful not to mention strong and handsome. Somehow every woman just knew they were safe with him and men knew if they had him along they’d conquer whatever stood in their way. Well, he wanted none of it. He only wanted to return to his paradox in the hills to heal from his loss.

Even at a slow easy walk, the puffs of dust gently sifted through the air, rising to nearly choke his breath and to settle on his saddle and clothing, as each hoof set down on the earth. He felt the sweat running down his back and felt his heart pounding in his chest as he entered Main Street and headed towards the general store. He allowed his normal military style posture to slouch in the saddle so he’d appear to be a tired worn out cowboy and bring no unwanted attention to himself. But to the knowing eye he would not appear to be such, not with a magnificent horse like that, built for speed and endurance. Nor would a cowhand be carrying such fine guns, nor have taken time to wrap them carefully with a light oilcloth to keep them clean and ready for action. No, his guise was only effective to the casual onlooker. To those who have eyes to see and understand what they behold, he was a man to bring attention to himself even when he didn’t wish it.

He dismounted at the hitching rail and tied up the dun with a quick-release slip knot, more from habit than from thought that he’d need to get away quickly. He casually gathered his billfold and supply list from his saddle bags and went inside to run his speedy errand and then be on his way back to seclusion.

Inside Mr. Hubert’s General Store he viewed a short, chubby woman who was fussing over makings for bear sign, or doughnuts as they were known back East. She looked up and smiled with a kind and friendly expression that would make a man forget she was short and wider than his horse. Mrs. Hubert spoke in just as friendly a voice offering him a chance to tackle one of those fresh bear signs.

She said, “Stranger, I’ve not seen you in here before, but you look like you could use some of this here sweet bread. Here you go. Sit down and I’ll fetch you a glass of Old Bessy’s cold milk from the ice box.”

“Why, thank you, Ma’am. Thank you very much. That’s right kind of you, Ma’am!”

“Well, what do you know? Manners! I don’t hear or see much of those in these parts, young fellow. Why you talk like that and you’re welcome here anytime!”

Their conversation was interrupted by a call from the back room, “Mother, will you come help me with these darn figures a minute? I just can’t make them straighten out.”

“Just leave ‘em a minute Bob and come meet this fine young man that just came in,” she replied.

In entered a tall slender man with gray hair and a face showing refinement and education, but streaked with lines of worry, it seemed to Matt.

“Welcome young man! It seems that Ma Hubert has taken a fancy to you, so I better oblige and treat you right lest I invoke her anger upon me.” He sidestepped quickly as he spoke, with a tinge of laughter in his voice, to avoid her flipping him with the sweet peach glaze with which she was frosting her delicate ambrosia.

Matt smiled, something he hadn’t done in a long time…except maybe in his dreams as he recalled playing with his children or looking in the beautiful blue eyes of his wife as she told him of her love for him that would never die…but die is just what they all did, and he had almost forgotten what it felt like to smile so genuinely. Being around Bob and Betty Hubert was a pleasure he could quickly get used to. It didn’t take long for them to strike up a mutual friendship and for both parties to see that the other was of kindred spirit.

After getting all his supplies loaded on his horse, Matt thanked them for their kindness and wished them a good day. Mrs. Hubert rushed back in the store and returned with a generous stack of bear sign wrapped in a sack for him to take on the road. He did not decline, but thanked her for the doughnuts, and with the graceful motion of a European gentleman he knelt and kissed her hand as though she were The Royal Queen herself. This brought a great smile and blush to her cheeks. He turned the dun to leave and Mr. Hubert said, “Son, I have to warn you there’s trouble in this town and if you stay you’ll be asking for some of it. I don’t know what your plans are, but I like you and thought I should warn you.”

“Thanks a lot, Bob, but I’ll be riding on and want no part of anyone’s trouble. Goodbye.”

Fate doesn’t seem to care what plans men make. It has a way of searching your soul and throwing in your path the very thing you can’t resist.

Matt rode no more than a hundred yards when he heard a woman’s scared voice saying, “Go away and leave me alone!” He turned to see three rough and dirty men surrounding a pretty young woman. She was trapped on every side and then she bolted through two of them, dashing for an alley between buildings. Desperately she tried to escape but was quickly overtaken by a skinny man with long filthy fingernails that tore into the flesh of her shoulder when he grasped her and flung her to the ground. She screamed for help as the three disgraces to manhood began to kick her, tearing the clothing from her soft, beautiful, cream colored skin. Matt sat his saddle, no stranger to suffering and pain of the battlefield, yet appalled that in broad daylight such an atrocity could be taking place right near the center of a modern town and nobody was stopping it.

He thought, “So much for riding in and out again without any contact with people.” In fact, in much less time than it takes to tell this series of events, the three men had more contact than any of them had ever imagined could exist in this world.

The skinny man who had first caught the gal was foremost in feeling Matt’s conviction that women are sacred and should be treated accordingly. Not more than a few seconds after grabbing her, he felt a blow between his shoulder blades, from the kick of Matt’s boot heel that nearly crushed his spine. His head was knocked backwards so hard that his neck snapped with the crack of a bullwhip. He sank lifeless to the ground, like the heap of dung that he’d become through a life of poor choices. The other two ruffians looked up in shocked surprise at this stranger who would dare interfere with their afternoon entertainment.

“What the Hell you think you’re doing Mister? Don’t ya know ya don’t mess with Parman’s men?!”

Matt replied in a calm yet commanding voice, “I don’t know who Parman is, but I tell you this: Any man who insults a woman as you have deserves to die. Now get out of here!”

The two men crouching over their frightened would-be victim, stood up slowly to face him. One of them had nervous eyes that were wildly dancing around as if unsure what to do. He kept looking at his companion for guidance, but the direction his friend chose was not too wise.

“I’m so sorry, Mister that I...” He began to say and then fast as he could he pulled on his pistol, a grin spreading across his fat, greasy face as he contemplated this stranger lying dead at his feet. But before his pistol even moved half way out of its holster Matt’s bullet tore a gaping hole right between his eyes, blowing bits of shattered bone and a spray of scrambled brains onto the wall behind him. As his diseased corpse collapsed next to his first comrade in sin, the third was running in a half stumbling crazed manner up the alley trying to escape this avenging angel who had rescued the damsel in distress. Matt lowered his gun and let the disgusting creature get away, although he couldn’t help but muse that society would be better off had he burned a few more grains of powder and donated a couple ounces of lead, as his civil service. Nevertheless, he had protected the girl and had no desire to shed more blood than necessary.

Harmony Blake looked up into the steel gray eyes of her savior as he wrecked havoc among her tormentors and it filled her with a fear, although different than that of the three creeps, maybe it was a greater fear. But when he was done with them and shifted his attention to her she saw the steel in his eyes melt to a mellow blue, like the calm of a crystal mountain lake reflecting the blue blue sky. She experienced a feeling of peace come over her like she’d never felt before, except maybe as a little girl in her daddy’s arms, before he was killed in the war. She felt another feeling that swelled within her bosom, a feeling she had never known nor did she understand its depths at that time. He had risked his own life to save her from the savage abuse she surely would have suffered, and done so in such a manner to never be forgotten. For the rest of her life all men would be measured against this man she didn’t even know.

Matt kindly helped her up and asked if he could escort her home. She was so flustered by the event that she couldn’t speak, but just stared into his handsome face and wished she could stay so close to him for the rest of all time that he’d never be further than a touch away. Just then Mr. and Mrs. Hubert and several other townsfolk appeared on the scene. “Oh, my dear Harmony!” she exclaimed. “Come with me dear child, and let’s get you cleaned up and take you home.” She hustled the girl away and over her shoulder spoke to Bob. He came to Matt, saying, “God bless you son. But you better run and get out of this country before Parman’s men come after you for what you’ve done!”

Matt just shook his head in disbelief, turned away, mounted the dun and headed towards the setting sun. As he rode he pondered the situation over. How could good folks be so buffaloed into allowing things of this nature to happen? There’s something wrong when you see good people sitting back letting bad men walk all over their neighbors’ rights. Who was this Parman of whom they’d spoken? What kind of a man would have such filthy scum working for him and also have the power to manipulate so many good townspeople? Why didn’t the good folks just get the law out here and run off the troublemakers? A lot of questions just didn’t have answers that made any sense at all. But there was one thing that did make sense in the mind of Matthew O’Brian. He had seen a situation needing attention and he’d done what he believed was right. Maybe there would be those that would say he shouldn’t have done what he did and maybe someone would be coming to punish him, but if the situation were repeated he knew he’d do the same thing again, with no thought for himself.

He wondered and wished, had there only been someone like him to step in and help his wife and children while he was away defending his country and freedom, maybe they would still be alive today, and maybe…well, no use daydreaming about them. The nights were still too hard to get through without spending all his daytime thoughts on them too. Sometimes he blamed himself for not being there to protect his Annie, and their two sweet little innocent children. Then he recalled the way they ushered him off as he left to serve as a Captain in the Union Army. They were so proud that he was going to defend and protect that which was good. How could he have known that while he was gone, terrible men like he’d just encountered would come and destroy his family and home? He couldn’t have known, but he still couldn’t help but think, “If only I’d been there!”

“How long have I been up in the hills in my solitude, trying to figure out what to do with my life? Had it been a year or two or even longer?” He really wasn’t quite sure, as he’d quit counting the days and months a long time ago. He decided as he rode into the darkness of night and watched the stars twinkling above that he’d no reason to ever return to civilization. But that night when sleep finally won his body over, his mind saw a shockingly beautiful young lady being roughly thrown to the ground and he replayed over and over the expressions on her face when he’d finished his violent work and then taken her hand to help her up. She hadn’t spoken to him, but the touch of her hand had awakened sensations that he’d considered dead…like the feeling of being needed again. And then there was the look in her emerald eyes as she was hustled away by the ladies, a look that told him he would always be welcome….and wanted. He hadn’t realized he was lonely in his seclusion, nor would he admit it now. But he did come to a decision that he better make sure that this Parman, whoever he is, and his ruffians don’t try to harm “Miss Harmony” again. And with this conviction in his mind he finally passed into a much needed restful sleep.

 CHAPTER II

         Annie threw her arms around Matt’s neck and pulled his lips to hers and kissed him passionately again and again. Finally when she could muster the courage to say goodbye she let him go, saying: “Now don’t you worry about us none. We’ll be fine. There’s plenty of food in the cellar and money stowed away. You’ve done everything a body can do to prepare. Why, you’ve made it so easy on me I’ll just be sitting around getting fat waiting for you to return. You go now and do your duty. We’ll be praying for you every day and looking forward to your return. God bless you. I love you dear Matthew!”

He rode away with a lump in his throat, hoping he’d return from the war to enjoy the rest of his life with this wonderful woman God had blessed him with. And oh, how he’d miss those two little bundles of joy he and Annie had brought into the world.

         The months that followed were full of hardship, sweat and tears for Matt. He saw so many men die in battle and often wondered how could such pain and suffering be justified. How could men be so cruel to one another? How could the workings of one’s mind be so twisted to find pleasure in causing pain to a fellow human being? So much blood was spilt that it made his stomach sick and his soul ache with sorrow. He understood well that if good men did not stand up for correct principles and defend them even with their lives that selfish and evil men would rule the world. The saying, “When the wicked rule, the people mourn…” was very evident in this bloody time of war. Only in the defense of freedom and protecting human rights was this war justified, and even then he couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t a better way. The only light he had to shine through the troubled times was the occasional letter from home that would find its way to his station. He loved to hear of the funny things the kids would say or do, and it filled him with hope for the future and a purpose in his current mission when Annie would praise his sacrifice to protect their family and the freedom of their new country.

The day finally came that filled him with a thrilling anxiety to rush home. The war was over! It was time to resume his role as a father and husband, and to try to forget the horrors of the war. He rode westward, pushing the dun a little more each day than he knew he should, ever anxious to feel those loving arms around him again. How he longed for the smell of the ponderosa pines, the harmonious song of the trickling creek running by the cabin, accentuated by the background music of quaking aspen leaves fluttering in the breeze. He dreamed of starting a herd of cattle on the land and raising a few top notch horses out of the dun stallion he’d raised from a newborn foal. He had a lot of dreams and plans that kept him staring at the stars each night dreaming, planning, working out details in his mind. As he drew nearer to home he became more and more excited about the bright future he imagined and fully expected to see to fruition. He was sure Annie had heard that the war had ended, even though their ranch was so far out in the secluded wilderness, and would be anxiously watching the horizon for his broad shoulders and happy smile to appear. He expected that other men from the surrounding area had come home before him, as he’d been stationed at the eastern edge of the battlefields. He’d seen no reason to write and tell her he was coming because he may have been home before his letter arrived. He had just fulfilled his duty, jumped on his horse and headed home fast as he could go…with a joy in his heart, so anxious for the happy reunion with little Luke and Sarah and of course his beloved Annie!

The morning before arriving home he cut across a sandstone mesa and noticed tracks of seven shod horses heading in the general direction of his ranch. Being only 20 miles or so from his place he was curious and naturally just fell in line following the tracks. Across the sandstone the white scratches made by the steel horseshoes showed up easily every little ways, so he wasn’t slowed down at all by following them. Being an experienced tracker, he was neither slowed nor hampered down when the trail entered the juniper and pinion forests either. Although most folks would have lost the trail he continued at an easy canter and ground covering long trot. He needn’t slow down to notice a broken branch on a pinion where a rider crowded the tree in passing catching the limb in his stirrup, or a rock somewhat askew poking into the air, leaving an impression underneath where it had lain for who knows how long prior to being disturbed by a pressing hoof. He moved along quickly, and felt a nervousness start to grow in his chest as they drew closer and closer to the valley he and Annie had chosen to make their home. He didn’t expect that the tracks meant trouble, but he couldn’t help but picture in his mind how vulnerable the homestead would be to this many men if they were of the wrong sort. And Heaven knows he’d met plenty of men of the wrong kind these past months. He felt the heavy breathing of the dun and looked down to notice huge splashes of foam falling from him wherever the saddle pad or breast collar were touching his glistening sweat soaked hide. Realizing that he was pushing his dependable and willing mount too hard, he slowed him to an easy walk and told himself he was getting nervous over nothing. The tracks were probably made by a bunch of local cowhands out for a day’s adventure exploring the area, or maybe a group of good natured soldiers returning home to the coastal settlements of California by this northern route to avoid the heat crossing the deserts to the south. In any case, the tracks were obviously a couple weeks old so there was no need to run a good horse to death, he reasoned.

After walking a couple of miles and the dun having caught his breath, they came upon a stream where the terrain started uphill to leave the junipers behind and climb up into the aspens and ponderosa. His heart filled with excitement. He would be holding Annie in his arms in just another hour or so! He knew this stream well and had watered here before. In fact, he looked across a small marshy meadow where the stream widened out and recognized a long dead tree so tall it nearly crossed the whole meadow. This is where he had shot his first elk, and remembered fondly how he and Annie had worked together skinning, cutting, and smoking the meat for the winter. He recalled how huge the animal had been compared to the beautiful and elegant whitetail deer he’d grown up hunting back in the Carolinas and in the Midwest . He smiled as the memories came back. That had sure been a peaceful and happy time for them…and now those times had come again!

With a joy he’d not felt in a long time he jumped up on the dun and started towards his paradise. Just a few steps they took across the stream and he pulled up sharply at the sight of the hoof tracks preserved in the muddy bank. All along the trail the tracks were obvious to an experienced tracker like him, but the sandy soils and stones gave up no secrets as to who owned the tracks. But the wet semi loam mixed with clay in this stream’s bank had another tale to tell. Matt jumped down to examine the tracks more carefully and felt a chill run down his spine. Only a moment did he stare and then he mounted the stallion and they charged up the mountain at a dead run. What Matt had seen told him something of who the riders were that even most good trackers would not have been able to decipher from the tracks. He saw that the nails used to attach the horseshoes were not of the kind used by ranchers and cowhands which were pounded out of scrap steel by local blacksmiths, nor were they like those worn by his sturdy mount and his comrades in the Union Army. The Union nails were forged by blacksmiths using railroad track steel and the heads were somewhat pointed and slope away on all sides, leaving a raised dent in the soil, where the hoof stepped, between the shoe and the nail. But these were of the type used by the Confederate soldiers mostly; they left a shape on the ground of a rectangle, twice as long as they were wide. Though very worn from many miles of travel, the horseshoe nail print details jumped out of the soil like a red waving banner would to you or me and sent Matt running towards home with a reckless abandonment for his safety or the horse’s well-being.

            He had been fighting against these men, and although it was highly unlikely that any of these individuals knew him personally, he was nonetheless scared that they may be of the lower quality sort who would steal or worse, take advantage of a woman alone.

On both sides of the line he met many fine men who were fighting for what they believed in, but there were many others who were happy to use the war as an excuse to carry out their evil deeds, showing evidence of the black motives inside their diseased souls. He knew Annie could defend herself well with any weapon, and that her pistol hiding in the folds of her dress was always clean, loaded, and ready. But seven men was quite a number…too much for a woman alone. As he felt the muscles of the dun flexing and stretching underneath him and heard the hooves pounding the earth as they ran, his mind raced even faster. Hopefully these men, although engaged on what he considered the wrong side of the battle, were of the sort that would treat a woman and her children with respect. Hopefully they had come by and seen the ranch and politely asked for water and grub. If so, then they’d been treated to a wonderful dose of Annie’s homemade wheat rolls, freshly baked in the woodstove oven that he’d packed to her for her birthday clear from New Orleans ...the envy of every woman for a hundred miles around. He could taste the steaming bread, fresh butter, cold milk, and the blackberry jam she made…even if she had had to fight it out with an ornery old bear to gather the coveted blackberries! She just had to be safe and well and happily awaiting his return! He couldn’t make the dun run fast enough to ease his mind…hopefully he’d cross that final horizon to see a lazy trail of smoke winding its way up into the sky and hear sounds of children’s laughter floating across the meadows to greet him. He was eager to see his love hanging out laundry to dry or cutting wood to warm them in the chilly nights that would be coming soon.

He raced along, his mind going numb, no more thinking of anything but to get there fast. The dun’s hooves threw huge clumps of mud backwards with each stride at the speed of a flying arrow; the saddle shook with a vibrating motion front to back so quickly it could hardly be felt as Matt stood in the stirrups, leaning slightly forward, as they shot through the forest like the winds of a hurricane.

Topping the last rise he pulled up at the narrow end of the grassy meadow and walked past the quaking aspen tree where Annie had carved their names the day they decided to make this home. He didn’t notice it at this time, although it was a special place to him. His attention was riveted at the far end of the meadow, his eyes straining to see and his ears piqued to hear any sound. All was silence. He put the horse into a gallop again and they glided through the knee high grass quietly as if ghosts of the forest, the hooves making no sound on the soft earth. As the meadow opened before him to reveal its secrets his heart sank and his temples began to pound. He couldn’t speak or swear or cry, but just sat in his saddle staring in disbelief. There was no cabin, but only charred remains of what had once been his home. There were no loving arms to greet him, and no sounds of children playing. It was silent as a tomb. He sat there in shock for a long long time. A stalwart and brave soldier was instantly transformed into a broken man. As the shock began to wear off he slid off the horse, pulling the saddle with him so the dun could go in search of food and water. Like a drunken man he wandered around the place viewing the carnage and destruction with horror and pain, the likes of which no man should ever have to feel.

He found the bodies of six men. He also found the bodies of those he loved. He buried them all, but the men in a common grave together near the ashes of their destruction and his family in the special spot at the end of the meadow underneath the quaking aspen bearing their names. The soldiers under his command had seen numerous acts of heroism on the battlefield and a braver, stronger man was never known. But as he knelt under the aspen grove to say goodbye and offer up a prayer, they’d not have recognized the sobbing frame of their captain, as he shook more than the aspen leaves in a windy mountain storm.  With clenched fists full of hair and mud he writhed on the ground atop the graves of all that was dear to him in life. He lay there crying far into the night and fell asleep curled up in the fetal position, unaware of the drizzling rain falling upon him for he was already drowned to sleep by his tears.

He never remembered his dreams from that night, but he always recalled the warm muzzle of the dun rubbing his cheek and nickering softly in his ear, which woke him up. He returned to the tragic scene and tried to piece together what had happened, and as he did so, much of it was apparent to his savvy sign reading skills and the other details he guessed at nearly exactly as it had transpired. They had tried to talk their way in, but she had refused them. Apparently, she could tell the sort of men they were because she normally would have taken in any strangers as if they were her own kin. They had tried to scare her and must have threatened her, because one of them had been shot through the middle with her big old Sharps buffalo gun, just like the one Matt carried. Then she must have retreated into the cabin and continued wreaking havoc among them with her six shooter as three more men were scattered about the yard, in front and behind the home. Back in the corral another had dragged himself after being wounded and there finished bleeding to death. A slight smile touched his lips, not of happiness, but of pride in this refined Eastern girl who must have seemed so helpless to these brutes who had attacked her. She had simply too many to fight to win, but she sure had shown them of the timber from whence she was hewn. They had finally had to burn her out to win, and even then she must have been a holy terror for the sixth dead man was covered with lacerations and punctures from her kitchen knife, which he’d found lying only inches from her hand. He found nothing of value on the entire place, which showed that the remaining man had done a thorough search, and completely scoured the place. He wondered at the baseness of the creature that would do such a horrible deed and then browse through the remains like he was in a shopping establishment, and then to top it off ride away without even burying his own dead companions or Matt’s wife and children.

He knew his dead wife would want him to forgive and forget and move on with his life. But to Matt, without her in his life, it no longer mattered what the good book said. He was going to find this last remaining destroyer of his family and finish the work of civil service his wife had started by cleansing the earth of the first six. Matt knew that a scum of this sort would steal, rape, and murder again. Maybe if he did not bring the man to justice, he would somehow be responsible for future atrocities the man would inflict upon others. Matt didn’t know if he was thinking straight or not, the pain was too great to think clearly. But what he did know is that he would follow the tracks and seek to have reconciliation with this doer of evil.

The following several months he followed the man across wilderness, through small cow towns, and into the cities along the coast of California . He found where the man had sold the horses from all his dead companions, and talked to bar tenders, hotel keepers, and even barbers and blacksmiths along the way. The same things were apparent all along the trail; the man never gave a name to follow him by, he always paid in gold coin that had come from the stash Matt and Annie had put away in their cellar to build their dreams with, and he always kept himself looking good with fine clothes and a flattering tongue. The latter was the hardest obstacle to Matt’s tracking him, because the man he followed made friends all along his way by buying free drinks and making folks think he was a prosperous businessman who could be trusted. So when questions about him came up folks just naturally got somewhat defensive and shut up, not wanting to ruin a good thing. If he’d had a fresher trail he could have caught the man in the mountains and taken care of business quickly, but under the circumstances the trail turned cold and then colder and finally in Los Angeles simply died out. With no name to track, the gold coins long since spent up, and a city full of people fitting the description he had, he finally had to admit defeat and headed home.

Home? What is that? Is it a place, a state of mind, a person, or a thing? As he rode eastward across desolate and overcooked lands and then took refuge in the red and white rock region, with flowing waterfalls and teeming with wild game, he had plenty of time to ponder this question in his mind. He thus came to the conclusion that he had no home as they had been taken from him. It no longer mattered where he went or what he did. His very purpose for existence did not exist. He lived in the mountains in the summer and the deserts in the winter, always wandering a little more into the wild canyons and places where he’d not meet people.

Occasionally he’d sell a few furs and skins he’d trapped and buy some supplies, but never did he imagine himself moving back into civilization and being part of a community again. He had had a chance at that kind of life and had had a great life, a happy life full of love and hope. But these were taken from him, so he consigned himself to a life of loneliness and seclusion and lived off the land as far from people as he could. But being quite intelligent and curious, he liked to wander about and explore the world. Thus did his wanderings bring him to the mountainside overlooking the little desert town where Bob and Betty Hubert were stocking their shelves with numerous goods that had just arrived on the stage coach, and where Harmony Blake and her mother sat by the hearth of the fire reading the Bible and talking about their hopes for the future.

Neither Matthew O’Brian, Bob and Betty Hubert, or Susan Blake and her daughter, Harmony, had any idea that tomorrow an event would take place that would change their lives forever. The event was caused by something very simple: a man rode into town to get supplies. Not a common or an ordinary man, but a real man. And wherever a real man rides, he takes his values and convictions with him, and people’s lives are blessed…that is the good people, anyway.