Wild Justice

By Rick Dearman

“ A gripping story of blood, revenge, love and fighting for what you believe is right even if it isn’t your fight...”

The civil war is over and the rebellion lost. Cheveyo the half-breed rebel is travelling to the frontier to start a new life with only two pure-bred horses and dreams of a ranch. But after happening on to the remains of a murdered family. He decides to give them the justice his family never got.

Using his skills and training to track down the killers and dispense justice he discovers these killers are just a few of the renegades working for the man they call “Big Red”. Crossing “Big Red” could cost him his life. It will take all of his skills to remain alive and a man of principle in the hellish frontier.

Book One of Frontiersman

A gritty fusion of fantasy and western the Frontiersman series has as its setting the immense plains, rugged tablelands, and dizzying mountain ranges bordering three nations all striving to gain control. The Frontiersman is a story of one man’s struggle to carve out a new life for himself in a land of brutal weather, savage people and fantastic beings. Follow the half-breed Cheveyo as he fights back against the savage climate and the even more savage inhabitants of the frontier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rick Dearman
• Release date: Jul 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9780956399434

Rick Dearman

Rick Dearman (1964 - ) is a prolific author who has written extensively across multiple genres. Born in Newark, Ohio, Rick spent 10 years in the USAF before relocating to Britain, where he currently resides in Chelmsford with his partner and beloved dog. With a passion for storytelling and an imaginative mind, Rick has created captivating works in the realms of fantasy, action, and more.Rick's literary journey began with non-fiction works available on Amazon, covering topics such as problem-solving, language learning, and meditation. However, his true calling lies in the realm of fantasy. Rick has launched two popular fantasy series, namely "Frontiersman" and "Librarian," which have enchanted readers with their immersive world-building and memorable characters.In addition to his fantasy series, Rick Dearman has delved into other genres, drawing inspiration from personal experiences and research. His action-packed series follows the adventures of a former French Foreign Legion soldier, providing an authentic and gripping narrative.Beyond writing, Rick Dearman finds joy in reading, exploring new places, and spending quality time with family and friends. With an insatiable appetite for knowledge, Rick hosts the Autodidactic podcast, serving as both producer and podcaster. The podcast caters to self-learners and polymaths, offering valuable tips and methods for learning.Furthermore, Rick is an accomplished speaker and language learning enthusiast. He holds the esteemed position of administrator on a popular language learning forum, where he actively contributes his expertise. On his YouTube channel, Rick shares insightful tips, tricks, and information on language learning, writing, and other subjects that pique his interest. His dedication to self-study and becoming an Autodidactic is also showcased through his podcast.In total, Rick Dearman has written over twenty books under his own name or as a ghostwriter. With a diverse background ranging from being a cook and dishwasher to an aircraft mechanic and IT manager, Rick brings a wealth of life experiences and knowledge to his writing. His fiction works are known for their thrilling plots and action-packed storytelling.Throughout his journey, Rick's passion for learning has been evident. He has taught himself French, Italian, and numerous computer languages, highlighting his relentless pursuit of knowledge.Whether you're seeking high fantasy adventures, heart-pounding action, or valuable insights into language learning and self-study, Rick Dearman's writings offer a diverse range of experiences to captivate and inspire readers.

Book preview

Wild Justice

By Rick Dearman

Copyright 2011 Rick Dearman

Smashwords Edition

The right of Rick Dearman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data data is available

First published in Great Britain in 2010 by XGI Publications. (http://xgipublishing.com)

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside these terms should be sent to the publishers at the above mentioned address.

You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

ISBN Paperback: 978-0-9563994-4-1

ISBN EBook: 978-0-9563994-3-4

Cover design and cover art ©Roxy DaSilva:

(http://roxydasilva.vpweb.co.uk)

Dedication

To my family.

Jane, my lovely wife. Emily, Catherine, Hannah, my wonderful daughters. Thank you all!

Special thanks to all the people who proofread and improved this book.

Ed Mendoza

Peter Hillier

Tammy Whitebear

Sandra Barbre

Brian E. Gronskis

If you would like to leave feedback or comments about this book contact the author at http://rdearman.org/ or follow me on twitter @RRDearman.

Chapter 1

Vengeance

He put each foot down with care, each toe feeling through his moccasins for loose twigs or stones. Cheveyo moved through the darkness silently with painstaking slowness. He looked up at the moonless sky, scratching the tattoo’s on his cheek absently before inching forward. Below him the voices of the murderers carried up through the darkness. He saw the dim light of the fire flashing through the tree trunks.

Stupid to be so arrogant. They attract attention like bugs to a lighthouse. He had picked the approach with the least incline, but if he loosened a stone it would roll straight into the camp. He stopped and pulled his hatchets from the sheaths on his belt. No point in letting a leather squeak warn them they are goin to die, or get me killed.

The carved handles fit his hands better than the best gloves possibly could. The dark stained hickory wood handles were a foot and a half long joined to a well honed steel axe head. The shape of the axe blade started from the shaft outward to a cruel triangle with a short sharp blade edge. Opposite the blade a slim steel spike six inches long and tapering to a needle sharp point protruded out the other side..

He could feel the thrill of the hunt throbbing up and down his back. The same thrill of hunting the Pimais tribesmen and stalking Royalist soldiers during the war as a scout coursed in his blood. Cheveyo moved like a ghost through the wilderness. He crept down the mountainside and a fox would have been hard pressed to see him. The light of the fire flickered and shone out through the woods and he saw the murderers clearly now. They were sitting around the fire and passing a bottle of whiskey.

I reckon I’m in for a long wait. Like a whisper he made his way to a tree as thick as his thigh and squat down against it, keeping the trunk between him and the fire. He pulled his long legs up to his chest and put his chin on his knees. He could turn his head and see the men, but more importantly he could hear them. You boys just go to sleep now. I bet they are so stupid they don’t even post a guard. Cheveyo leaned back against the tree and rested while the men drank. He closed his eyes and the sight of the woman’s raped and mutilated body returned.

***

Cheveyo had seen the smoke on the horizon at dawn when he broke camp. He’d mounted up and moved toward the smoke cautiously. Today he rode the grey stud he’d named Seus, his hooves sure and firm in the dark loamy dirt of the prairie. Behind him the mare who he called Mer and the mule Croaker walked along patiently.

Cheveyo stopped and dismounted the leather creaking. He adjusted his sabre the heavy steel tapping gently against his leg as he walked to the mare holding his hand out. He stroked her side slowly. Another three or four days before I get to Ox-mead, she is five months gone already. I got another six months to claim some land and build a barn for foaling. He’d breed the mare before he left for the frontier with a strong race stud, he wanted to have different line in the stock before he bred her with the grey.

Cheveyo walked back to the mule and patted his head. Good old Croaker, he smiled at the mule and pulled out one of the last carrots from the back pack and snapped it into three pieces. He feed Croaker the back end with the stem and all. Cheveyo stroked the half ear of the mule while he chewed on the carrot. Croaker’s ear had been cut off by a wild sword stroke during one of the battles of the revolution.

Cheveyo looked again at the horizon, the smoke a thin trail of mist in the sky, but visible. Smoke out here on the frontier meant trouble, normally trouble took the form of goblins, or barbarian tribesmen. He chuckled to himself and rubbed the tribal tattoo’s on his face. Most people mistook him for a barbarian or a half-breed because of them. He mounted the Grey and pressed on. Soon he saw the source of the smoke in a small dip in the prairie lay the smouldering ruins of a farmstead.

Cheveyo stood in his stirrups, the saddle leather creaking, and looked for movement. He could make out the shapes of people on the ground. Dead. A quick but sure assessment of the still forms below. In the sky above the carrion birds circled, some already perched beside the bodies. He pulled off his felt slouch hat and wiped the sweat with his sleeve. His blond hair stuck against his forehead and he ran his fingers through the damp hair before pulling the hat back down on his head.

The birds wouldn’t be there if folks was alive, he decided, I may as well wander down. Cheveyo pulled his short saddle bow out and strung it. Putting an arrow in the string he allowed the Grey to move forward controlling him with his legs, the reins laying on the saddle horn. He scanned the farm and surrounding constantly as he approached the farmstead. A few dozen feet from the body of a man he stopped the stallion and dismounted. He dropped the reins and let them dangle toward the ground. Well trained as a cattle horse Cheveyo didn’t worry about Seus wandering off.

Cheveyo moved around the farmstead with his bow at the ready. He approached the barn first. He kicked in the door of the fire scorched barn and peered inside. Dust from the hay danced in the morning sunlight. Beams of light streamed into the barn from the broken and burned roof. Ignoring the barn he continued his search.

Burned completely down to the ground he ignored the house, but moved instead to the partially hidden root cellar near the barn. He opened the trap door and yanked it back. Cheveyo looked down into the cool darkness and assured himself it was empty. He unstrung his bow and looked around the empty farm before he returned to the cellar and climbed into it.

Preservatives and jams stood together neatly on small shelves like soldiers on parade. Vegetables lay in a row of bins against the back wall. He spotted a couple of bottles of whiskey high on the shelf behind some jam jars. He climbed back up the ladder and into the light.

Cheveyo walked over to the body of a man in homespun clothes. He had an arrow in the neck. Probably died instantly. He walked near the burned out farmhouse. Two children dead, their heads cracked open, lay beside the smouldering ruins of the farmhouse. The bodies were partially burned. Further on past the farmhouse a woman probably the wife, staked out in the sunlight naked.

He spat on the ground and shook his head. The carrion birds were pecking her face and eyes. Cheveyo shouted at them and walked to the body. He cut her hands and feet from the stakes with his sabre. He stopped and stared at the woman’s face. About the same age as my mother when the raiders killed her. Cheveyo closed his eyes and took a deep breath willing away painful memories.

He found the shovel in the barn. The shovel was nasty and dirty, it ripped at the skin of his hands, but years of hard work and horses reins had made his hands a huge cluster of callouses.

He stood and paused, the sweat pouring off him. What am I doing this for? He asked himself looking at the bodies of the family laying in the sun. Because there ain’t no one else who will do for them, came the answer in his head. Like no one did for your ma.

Cheveyo continued to dig the grave and when he finished he stood for a moment resting. Cheveyo lifted his head, jerked out of his revelry when the horse whinnied. He grabbed his sabre and leaped out of the hole in an instant. His eyes scanning everything.

The birds, he thought, they are spooked by the carrion birds and the bodies. Cheveyo moved to the horses and calmed them with gentle words and soft strokes to the nose and sides. He looked back at the grave. I reckon that is big enough, I’ll put some stone over it to keep out the critters.

***

How much you reckon old Red is going ta give us for this here farm? said one of the murderers. I figure we got to get double the last payment, this here stead is two days from the settlement.

Cheveyo listened and wondered about Big Red. He frowned and ran his thumb down the keen edge of the hatchet in his hand. Does my vow to get her killers apply to this Big Red fellow? Cheveyo chewed on his lip and pondered the implication of the fact these were hired killers.

Big Red pays what he pleases, snapped another, and ain’t no point in arguing with him, since you can’t exactly find other employment out here.

Yeah but how come he is so eager to get shut of these farmers? said the first voice.

Ain’t your concern now is it? said the other man, the conversation coming to a bitter, awkward ending.

A crash sounded in the bushes and Cheveyo moved his head around to see what caused it. The men were standing and the bottle was gone. They must have thrown it, he thought allowing his tense muscles to settle back down. He watched the murderers as they lay out their bedrolls and saddles for sleep. Cheveyo lost his bet when the one of the men took up a crossbow and announced he would take first watch.

The man moved slowly out to the edge of the firelight and sat down on a fallen log. He sat on the opposite side of the camp from Cheveyo and Cheveyo returned his head to his knees. I’ll take a nap for a few hours. Cheveyo closed his eyes again.

***

Cheveyo closed the eyes of the corpses and puts some sack cloth over their heads. He places the man and woman gently inside the grave and puts one child on the chest of each parent. I guess you’d want your babies beside ya. He stood back to the edge of the grave and picked up the shovel. The scraping of the shovel rasped out again and again as he threw shovelfuls of dirt over the bodies.

I don’t reckon you deserved this death. He spoke to them silently as he filled in the grave. I don’t know ya, but I don’t think you deserve to be killed like worms.

Cheveyo had never been a man quick to anger. His anger grew from a small flicker in his stomach and grew into an icy cold intensity. He rarely got angry but his anger when it burned cold and hard in his gut couldn’t be extinguished. His foster father had shown him all things have a time in the world and it didn’t do much good to worry and fuss over things. While the anger of some men erupted like a flash of lightning, quick to start, quick to end, for Cheveyo anger became an icy glacier, it building remorselessly and unfailingly to an explosion of violence. That icy anger grew with every shovelful he’d dug.

When he’d finished burying the family and covering the grave with stones his anger burned cold and steady. He walked to the farmhouse and pulled out a board from the wall. Hacking at it with his hatchet he whittled a point and used the shovel to drive the marker into the ground.

Cheveyo stood above the grave and removed his hat. He didn’t know what religion these folks had been and he’d never been much of a man to fear a god, so he stood over the grave and made a vow instead of a prayer.

May your gods keep you and your younguns and let them speed me along quick to be your vengeance on the dogs who killed you.

Looking up at the sun he noted he had about four hours of daylight left. Well no time like the present to go a snake hunting, he thought and snapped his hat on his head and spun on his heel.

I’ll need some of the provisions. He climbed into the cellar with a sack and took the jams and vegetables. He looked at the two bottles of whiskey and gave a grim smile. I ain’t going to drink until I have killed them snakes, but I’ll take your whiskey to celebrate over their corpses.

Just like the scouts, he thought, moving up the ladder. I’m hunting men. Only this time it wasn’t

Reviews for Wild Justice

[carmenmaranda · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Cheveyo turns out to be a killing machine. the fight scenes are truly remarkable.Quite a few grammer mistakes and words out of place but not enough to distract you from the story. He finds his love and loses her looking forward to the sequal