GARRISON Preview
I've decided to post the 1st chapter from my latest novel-in-progress GARRISON. It's the sequel to my first book THREE RODE THE TRAIL. When the new novel opens up, Garrison is standing over the freshly-covered grave of his younger brother Ike. In this book, Garrison rides off on a trail of both revenge and redemption. I plan to self-publish it later this year.
Chapter 1
Garrison Fleck was standing over the grave of his younger brother Ike. The earthy smell of the freshly tossed dirt covering the grave filled his mind with memories of when he and Ike had first been brought to this ranch. Uncle Roy had owned it back then. He had picked them up at the Upper California Crossing on the South Platte River near Julesburg in 1865. He and Ike had grown up on this ranch and had come into ownership of it after Roy was killed in 1871.
Ike’s grave was dug next to Roy’s among a stand of boxelders near a stream that ran through the ranch. Garrison had chosen a simple headstone for his brother, made from white granite with a rounded top. The inscription was equally as simple: “Isaac Fleck 1861-1878”. Ike had always introduced himself as “Isaac” to the few people he chose to meet, and Garrison felt he would have liked that name inscribed on his gravestone. It bothered him that he couldn’t recall Ike’s middle name because it had never been used. The letters were bigger with just the two names anyway.
But more than the headstone Garrison was thinking about the guns Ike was buried with, a matched set of .36 Colt Navy 1851 revolvers. It was the same outfit that Ike’s idol, Wild Bill Hickok, had worn. Ike had wanted them for years. And now in death he finally wore them. Garrison had made damn sure of that.
Why the hell hadn’t he listened to Ike and bought him those guns while he had still been alive? Just one more regret added to the long list that comprised Garrison Fleck’s life.
Garrison had held onto the twin .44-40 Merwin Hulbert revolvers that he had bought Ike for the stagecoach guard job. One of the guns would serve a purpose, implementing a plan he had in mind.
He wanted to start the ride to Pueblo this afternoon but he would wait until next morning. There was plenty of time to kill.
© 2020 Richard Lear
Chapter 1
Garrison Fleck was standing over the grave of his younger brother Ike. The earthy smell of the freshly tossed dirt covering the grave filled his mind with memories of when he and Ike had first been brought to this ranch. Uncle Roy had owned it back then. He had picked them up at the Upper California Crossing on the South Platte River near Julesburg in 1865. He and Ike had grown up on this ranch and had come into ownership of it after Roy was killed in 1871.
Ike’s grave was dug next to Roy’s among a stand of boxelders near a stream that ran through the ranch. Garrison had chosen a simple headstone for his brother, made from white granite with a rounded top. The inscription was equally as simple: “Isaac Fleck 1861-1878”. Ike had always introduced himself as “Isaac” to the few people he chose to meet, and Garrison felt he would have liked that name inscribed on his gravestone. It bothered him that he couldn’t recall Ike’s middle name because it had never been used. The letters were bigger with just the two names anyway.
But more than the headstone Garrison was thinking about the guns Ike was buried with, a matched set of .36 Colt Navy 1851 revolvers. It was the same outfit that Ike’s idol, Wild Bill Hickok, had worn. Ike had wanted them for years. And now in death he finally wore them. Garrison had made damn sure of that.
Why the hell hadn’t he listened to Ike and bought him those guns while he had still been alive? Just one more regret added to the long list that comprised Garrison Fleck’s life.
Garrison had held onto the twin .44-40 Merwin Hulbert revolvers that he had bought Ike for the stagecoach guard job. One of the guns would serve a purpose, implementing a plan he had in mind.
He wanted to start the ride to Pueblo this afternoon but he would wait until next morning. There was plenty of time to kill.
© 2020 Richard Lear
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