Hunter James Dolin
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Hunter James Dolin
The Half-Breed Gunslinger II
Bret Lee Hart
Smashwords Edition
Hunter James Dolin
The Half-Breed Gunslinger II
Presented by Western Trail Blazer
Copyright © 2012 Bret Lee Hart
Cover Art Copyright © 2012 Karlee Dawn and Laura Shinn
Design Consultant – Laura Shinn
Smashwords Licensing Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Hunter James Dolin is a work of fiction.
Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.
Hunter James Dolin survived the revenge war of Myakka City, Florida, by killing the men who raised their guns against him and his loved ones – all but one.
The Governor directed the Army to investigate, forcing the Half-Breed Gunslinger to seek refuge deep in the swamps of the Everglades.
Hunter James Dolin was content to live the rest of his life in solitude – 'til he was sought out and told of the whereabouts of the one that got away.
This would spark a new battle of revenge, overshadowed by the Civil War, but not soon forgotten by the people who inhabit the Florida swamplands.
Prologue
The year was 1862 and the War Between the States was raging in full, pitting countrymen against countrymen. Florida was the third of the original seven states to secede from the Union. There had been few battles fought there to this point, due to the state's remote location and small population. Florida's most important role was as a food supplier of beef cattle and salt for the Confederate Army.
The Union armies had strongholds in North and Central Florida, and as far South as Key West, but the soldiers avoided the treacherous swamps in the everglades. Only Indians and Crackers dared enter these cypress wet lands – crawling with gators, bears, venomous snakes, wild boars, and mosquitoes – relentless and numerous.
Hunter James Dolin easily made these swamps his refuge, for he was both of these, half-white and half-Injun, what the people of these parts called a Half-Breed. He was born without a family as his mother had died giving birth to him, and his father had moved on long before.
Hunter was raised as the slave of a small Lower Creek Seminole Indian Tribe. He escaped at a young age to the north, where he learned the ways of the white man. He mastered the use of Sam Colt's revolver and took a liking to gambling, preferably poker. Hunter had a skill for the game of cards, or maybe he was just lucky – he did not know – but what he did know was that men did not give up their money easily.
After killing three men on three separate occasions, he had built up a reputation as a gunfighter. Most white men could not accept the fact that a dirty half-breed could beat them at cards without cheating. With the pressure building on him, he felt that itch to go west, where he landed a job with the Union Army as a tracker and killer of the feared Comanche, and any other savages that got in the white man's way. Hunter James did this for several years 'til he heard his father, who he had still not met, had returned to Florida. Hunter worked his way back home, only to find his pa had been murdered, shot in the back by a cowardly soul.
He tried to settle down in the cabin left to him by his father, a retired soldier turned gunfighter, who went by the name James Dolin. Hunter had fallen in love with a beautiful woman named Lilith, and cared for a young boy named Zeke, and he swore to the heavens they would all be together as a family. But they were killed by the same men who killed his pa, along with some others. His lovely Lilith was shot in the head, and the boy died from fever, a result of a beating.
His only friend left in this world, Matt, was killed in a gun battle in the town of Myakka. Matt was an older man who became a father figure to Hunter for the short time they knew each other. He had given the gunslinger a job at the saloon as a peacekeeper, and fought beside him to his death.
Hunter James Dolin's revenge had been justified – he killed thirty to forty men, and burned Myakka City down to the ground. But, that was the past, we must now move on to the present.
Chapter One
It was a hot summer day in late June or maybe early July, who knew? There weren't too many calendars in these parts, these parts being an island located in the center of the Everglades, three days ride south of Lake Okeechobee. Here is where for some time Hunter James Dolin had stayed in solitude amongst the saw-grass marshes, where he stayed in what the Seminole Indians called a Chickee. The platform house was built of logs that stood three feet off the ground for protection from flooding and animals. The roof was slanted and made of green woven palm fronds. There were no solid walls between the posts, for the Indians of the swamp were always on the move; perhaps they could see no reason for building any.
Late in the afternoon, Hunter sat in front of a modest fire on a crude stool he had carved out of a Cypress stump. He was chewing on a cooked baby gator tail when he saw the riders coming toward him across the green, wet prairie. It was damn near impossible to sneak up on his small tropical hardwood hammock, actually a raised limestone island, surrounded in all directions by the ankle-deep water and knee-high grass that went on for miles.
Hunter wore his gunbelt which held his set of Colt 44 revolvers, and his sawed off double-barreled shotgun lay across his lap. As their horses walked closer toward him, he could see they were white men. They were still a quarter of a mile off, the smoke from his fire guiding them to his position.
He had not seen anyone in many months; even the Seminoles didn't travel this deep into the marsh very often; and if they did, they avoided the Half-Breed. They believed he was possessed by an evil spirit, which meant bad magic followed him were ever he went. The Indians called him, Lus-tee Manito Nak-Nee, which translates to 'black spirit man'.
Hunter finished his meal, throwing the bones into the fire. The men were close now; the wake in the water from the movement of the horses' legs could be heard as well as seen. He recognized these men from a long ago poker game, in a faraway saloon, in a city that was no more. He remembered these old veterans as being friendly, but time has a way of changing things; Hunter trusted no one.
He broke open the shotgun, checking to make sure it was loaded. This was purely out of habit; his guns were always cleaned and loaded and ready to fire; he cocked both hammers back, resting it again on his lap. He then un-holstered his right handed revolver and spun the cylinder up by his ear, stopping it with a double click of his thumb. With his right finger on the Colt's trigger and his left finger on the shotgun trigger, he waited patiently for them to arrive.
The old men came to a halt in the shin-high swamp water. A water moccasin swam by in front of their horses, spooking them just a bit. They looked uneasily around; there was nothing but grass and swamp. Staring hard at the little island they could now see someone sitting next to a fire, the smoke rising straight up, for there was little to no wind.
"Wat chyah think, Jebediah?"
"Hell, I don't know, Walt." Jebediah stretched his neck forward, his eyes squinting as he tried to focus on the man
at the fire.
"It's got to be him, who else could live way the devil out here?"
"Well, I reckon we need to ride in, at least in speakin' distance, yah' think?" Walt asked nervously.
"I spose," agreed Jebediah. "We're already in rifle distance the way that son shoots. If he wanted us dead, we'd done been shot already."
"Let's do what we came to do then," replied Walt. "Can't live forever."
They began moving their horses slowly, the grass parting for them as they went; the sound of the water could be heard sloshing off their hooves. As they got closer, the old men could now see that it was the gunslinger, his shoulder length, jet-black hair hanging down from underneath his black brimmed hat. The old crackers came to a halt twenty feet from him making sure their hands were in clear sight. There was silence and a long pause, making Walt a bit uncomfortable.
Jebediah finally broke that silence, "Howdy, Mr. Dolin, 'member us?"
Hunter said nothing; he just glared at the two men with his piercing steel-blue eyes.
Walt broke in, after involuntarily clearing his throat, "We three had a friendly card game at Matt's saloon a ways back, in Myakka city. It's a shame 'bout Matt – he was a good man and a good friend."
"What do you want?" asked Hunter.
"We came to warn yah, son," explained Jebediah. "The army has put a bounty on your head."
"You called me son," said Hunter.
Walt looked at Jebediah uneasily, Jeb answered, "Sorry 'bout that. I didn't mean to offend."
"No fault taken," explained Hunter, "Matt used to call me that."
The gunslinger released the hammer on his revolver and put it back into its holster. He then did the same with the shotgun, releasing the triggers and leaning it against a small palm tree conveniently within arm's reach.
"Please join me for some food; I got some mighty sweet gator meat on the spit. You can tether the horses up here on the lime rock behind me," Hunter pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, "under the cypress trees next to the Appaloosa."
"Well, all righty then," said Walt, he looked to Jebediah. "See, I told you he weren't crazy."
"Shut up, Walt; I didn't say no such thing."
The two old veterans could be heard bickering as they walked their horses out of the swampy water up into the trees. They returned a few minutes later, still bickering at one another; Jebediah had a bottle of whiskey in his mitts.
"This here is good Kentucky bourbon," announced Jebediah, as he and Walt pulled up log stumps to sit upon, "from Kentucky," he added.
"He knows where Kentucky bourbon comes from, you old fool," said Walt with a frown. "Would you like a snort there, Hunter James?"
The gunslinger picked up a tin cup from the ground and blew into it, removing an oak leaf and some dust; he then tossed it to Jebediah.
"That would be better than a stick whoopin'," said Hunter. "I done run out of hooch a ways back."
"How long you been without?" asked Walt, as Jebediah leaned over handing Hunter his tin, which was now full to the rim with the Kentucky brew.
"It's been about twenty settin's of the sun, I'd say."
"Damn!" exclaimed Walt, "that's a long time; you're a better man than I."
Jebediah nodded his head in agreement.
Hunter continued with his arms up, showing the men their surroundings. "If you all take a look around yah, you will see there ain't no saloons here 'bouts."
The three men drank and talked as the sun was setting. Normally Hunter would not burn a fire at night for the light could be seen miles out, but the gunslinger was enjoying the company and considered this a special occasion. They began talking about the destruction of Myakka City which turned the conversation more cumbersome.
Matt had been a good friend to Walt and Jebediah, and a fatherly figure to Hunter. They knew Hunter had returned to Florida in hopes of meeting his father for the first time, only to find out he had been murdered. The old timers also knew that Mat, and everyone else around these parts had suspected a rancher named Frank Lugar had done it. This was the first time Hunter had spoken to anyone about anything, not to mention what really happened in the city of Myakka.
In a monotone voice, the gunslinger told his guests of a lovely woman named Lilith and an orphan boy who they had figured to adopt for their own. Their plans were thwarted by Richard Montgomery, a powerful and murderous man. Montgomery and Frank Lugar, along with their hired gunmen, teamed up to destroy the half-breed and his new family. These bad men managed to kill Matt, Lilith, and the boy before the gunslinger killed all of them. With the city burned to the ground, along with Lugar's ranch, Hunter retreated deep into the swamps, finding a home on this small lime rock where he now lived in total isolation.
Walt and Jebediah sat quietly, smoking cigars and listening to their host's story without interruption. After Hunter had finished, the three sat in silence for a long moment. Only the crackling of the fire and the constant buzz of swamp bugs could be heard, until Jebediah finally spoke,
"That's a tragedy, son, if I'd ever heard one. And I have no doubt you speak the truth, but that's not the story been' told out yonder."
"Who's tellin' what?" asked Hunter, "I killed them all, there was no one left to talk."
"Sure 'bout that?" asked Walt, "One a' Lugar's men got away, along with a Chinese, he was the cook or somethin'."
"Yup, I recall," replied Hunter, "I had put the thought of the man that got away from my mind. I never knew about the Chinaman."
Jebediah threw his cigar butt in the fire and pulled a swig off the whiskey bottle. His head shook with a shivering motion from the potent liquor.
"Well?" asked Walt impatiently, "you gonna' tell him what the man's been sayin', or you gonna' jump around like a polecat caught in a beaver trap?"
"I'm gittin' to it, you old fool."
This was no laughing matter, for their talks were drudging up bad memories for Hunter, but then again he was actually being entertained. These two carrying on reminded him of a comic play he saw once in a town in Missouri, when he was a much younger man. So he sat patiently waiting to get the rest of the story.
The old coots finally settled down, and Jebediah continued.
"The one that got away claimed a small war party of Indians attacked the city of Myakka and then Lugar's ranch."
Hunter interrupted, "What's that horseshit story got to do with me?"
Walt picked the story up were Jebediah left off, "He said the leader of this war party was a half-breed, name of Dolin – Hunter James Dolin."
"Find this so called war party," said Hunter, "and question them to find out the truth."
"The Army did just that," replied Jebediah. "They captured a Miccosukee Injun called Raging Bear. He denied knowin' ya', sayin' he was the leader."
The gunslinger stood, and put another log on the fire.
"The blue coats didn't believe the red man with the tomahawk scar on his face, did they?" asked Hunter.
The old timers looked at each other, their mouths slightly open. "You knew Raging Bear?"
"I had run-ins with him, a time or two."
"Well, I hope he weren't your friend, 'cause they shot him, and his braves; Death by firin' squad."
"So they're still lookin' for me." stated Hunter, as he lit a cigar with a burning stick he dug out of the fire.
"No, son," said Jebediah, "the Army's gone back up north. I don't know if you know it or not, but the War Between the States has started. They have done put five hundred dollars on your head before they left and there's bounty hunters lookin' to collect."
Hunter James had heard enough talk for one night and decided to turn in for some shut-eye. He told the old boys they were welcome to stay the night, but they should leave in the morning. The gunslinger did not want them involved in his mess. It didn't seem right to sleep in the one man Chickee when he had company, so he bedded down outside under the Cypress.
Staring at the stars for a while seemed to help him make up his mind. He was tired
of hiding and looking over his backside, so he would go inland and clear his name, or die trying.
Chapter Two
Hunter woke an hour before sunrise like he always did, his internal clock working like it always had.
Jebediah and Walt had already packed up and gone. This concerned the gunslinger, for he should have heard them leave. Apparently, the liquor affected him causing a deep slumber; he was lucky his enemies were nowhere near. Luck seemed to follow men and it didn't matter what they did or where they did it, what mattered was whether the luck was good or bad. Bad luck always followed good luck eventually, that's just the way it was.
The half-breed gunslinger packed up what little food he had and dressed for the journey. The one thing he did have plenty of was ammunition; of course, this day and age you could never have enough lead. Dressed all in black, he buckled down the gunbelt that held the Colt 44 revolvers before strapping on the side-shoulder holster containing the double-barrel sawed-off shotgun. The thirteen-inch Bowie knife was then tucked into the front of his belt before sliding into his light colored elk skin jacket, the leather fringe dangling from his long arms resembling a bird in flight. He grabbed his rifle and mounted his Appaloosa after putting on his black, wide brimmed hat. The rifle slid into the saddle sheath; loaded, checked, and ready for battle just like all his other weapons he carried.
The gunslinger and his horse he named Zeke, after the ten-year-old boy that Hunter could not save, headed for the so-called civilization. It seemed strange to him calling the Appaloosa Zeke, but it was still somehow fitting; the only reminisce of his past he could deal with at this time.
The horse's legs sloshed through the shin-deep water and parted the knee-high grasses; this went on for miles, until they made it to dry land. The horse and rider then picked up the pace to a gallop. They were heading for Myakka City, the last place on earth Hunter thought he would ever go. It had been about a year since he burned that town to the ground and killed every one in it.