Warhorse Trail: The Travels of Jacob Wolf, #3

By Steven E. Wedel

In the wild and rugged Cherokee Nation, a young bounty hunter named Jacob Wolf embarks on a dangerous journey to retrieve stolen horses and seek justice for his retired partner, Jerome Freeman. But it won't be an easy task, as Levi White Horn and his gang will stop at nothing to rid the nation of the rival for beautiful Sarah Longfeather.

 

Filled with heart-pounding action and vivid descriptions of the untamed West, "The Travels of Jacob Wolf: Warhorse Trail" is a thrilling tale of loyalty, betrayal, and redemption. Fans of westerns and adventure stories will be captivated by this gripping narrative.

 

If you enjoyed books like "Lonesome Dove" or "True Grit," then "Warhorse Trail" is a must-read for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MoonHowler Press
• Release date: Mar 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224695799

Steven E. Wedel

Steven E. Wedel lives with his dogs, Bear and Sweet Pea, and his cat, Cleo. A lifelong Oklahoman, he grew up in Enid and now lives in Midwest City, with numerous addresses in between. He is the author of over 35 books under his name and two pseudonyms, but still has to rely on his day job of teaching high school English to keep himself and his furry dependents eating in air-conditioned comfort. Steven has four grown children and three grandsons. Be sure to visit him online and sign up for his newsletter.

Book preview

Warhorse Trail

The Travels of Jacob Wolf #3

Steven E. Wedel

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MoonHowler Press

Copyright © 2024 by Steven E. Wedel

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

First edition 2024

Contents

Title Page

Foreword

1.Venison and a Visitor

2.Delivering Bodies

3.Bullet Number Four

4.The Injury

5.The Land Deal

6.Treasures

7.Lightning in His Hands

8.Parting Comp'ny

9.Name and Reputation

10.Hot Springs, Hot Lead

11.Indian Raid

12.On the Trail

13.Rifle Fire

14.Red Fountain

15.Porch Talk

16.Looking Ahead

Also By Steven E. Wedel

Warhorse Trail

The Travels of Jacob Wolf #3

Steven E. Wedel

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MoonHowler Press

Foreword

My name is Jacob Wolf and these are the stories of my life. I figure I should tell them myself before some damn fool back East tries to make me out to be some kind of dime-novel hero like Bill Cody. It ain’t like that. I ain’t no hero. I’m just an old man who started out as a dumb young kid and survived, more by luck than anything else. These stories are true, but like every story, they’re only true if you see them through my eyes.

1

Venison and a Visitor

Autumn on the southern plains is unlike anything I’ve experienced anywhere else. In the mornings, with fog clinging to the river and creek beds and drifting through the dips in the land, it’s a thing of beauty. Add to that the sound of birds beginning to stir for the day and that huge expanse of sky with all the black and gray of night and dawn draining out of it to make room for a blue so bright and so happy looking that you can’t help but smile up into it. The cottonwoods and willows along the water courses start changing colors and, as the day warms, their drying leaves rattle against one another, break free, and drift away in the wind.

This particular morning, more than a year after that whole incident with Frank Dale, we had all of that and gunfire.

I’d been waiting for over an hour to get this shot and my butt was going numb on the branch of a big cottonwood. But, just as I knew he would, my young quarry wandered down to the gurgling creek for a morning drink of fresh water. He paused there, looking around, his antlers high and proud with eight points. His big dark eyes didn’t see anything and I was high enough in the tree that his nose didn’t alert him of my presence. I sighted down the barrel of my Winchester rifle, took a deep breath, held it, and slowly exhaled as I pulled the trigger.

The buck staggered, snorted, his eyes now round with fear, and then he sank to his knees, hesitated there for a long, agonizing moment that I admit made me feel pity for him, and then he toppled over onto his side, heaved a few ragged breaths, and was still.

Despite that moment of sympathy, I let out a loud whoop to celebrate my kill. From about a half-mile downstream, I got an answering whoop from my partner, the huge black man named Jerome Freeman. We’d been traveling together for close to two years now, him showing me the ropes on how to be a bounty hunter. If I do say so myself, I’d gotten pretty good at it. Our pockets were full of money from a recently completed job, I had money in banks all over north Texas and southern Kansas and Jerome … Well, Jerome kept his money buried in places only he knew about, though by now I’d gotten some idea of the general areas he used.

I field dressed my deer, then slung the carcass over my shoulders, balancing it with one hand and carrying my rifle with the other, and started back for camp. We were on our way to the nearest town, which happened to be the one where we’d met, with a couple of dead men draped over their horses. The weather was cool enough that we didn’t have to push ourselves too hard. The bodies weren’t stinking yet and the deer tracks had just been too numerous to ignore, so I’d gone hunting with Jerome’s blessing.

He greeted me with his customary big smile and another whoop. You shore got ’im! he said, coming over to examine the deer when I dropped it to the ground a few feet from our little fire. He moved it around, then grinned up at me. I thought I only heard one shot. Ol’ Deadshot Jake. He laughed and I smiled but didn’t really feel it.

Let’s get him skinned and on the fire, I said.

We had fresh venison and hard biscuits for breakfast, then cut most of the rest of the meat into strips to dry over the fire for jerky, keeping a couple of big steaks to cook that evening. Then we sat around, drinking coffee and digesting our meal as if we were lords of that north Texas prairie.

I guess we won’t have to buy jerky when we get to town, I said.

I reckon not, Jerome said. We’re in need of coffee, though.

You want to visit Sheriff Brad Harrison? I asked. Are you looking to replace me? The sheriff of the little town of Beeler is the man who decided I would become a bounty hunter under the tutelage of Jerome Freeman. That was after he caught me riding a stolen horse I’d taken from a wanted man I’d had to kill before coming into town. But I’ve already told that story.

I could use some town time, Jerome admitted. A hot bath shore do sound right nice. And a bed. Ummhmm. My old bones could stand a few nights on a soft bed.

You sound like an old man, I teased.

I’m feelin’ it, you young pup, he said, grinning over the rim of his tin coffee cup. Weather turnin’ cold and all. It gets in my bones.

"I wouldn’t mind a night in a hotel,