Thread: A Tale of the Old West (Isabelle & Master Machiavelli)

Prologue Spring 1880 He rode alone across the vast expanse of the Kansas prairie, the tall grass brushing along his chaps and the flanks of his sorrel mount. The wagon trail lay perhaps a half mile to the south, Mal preferring to keep off its deeply rutted track. He was on the hunt, and stalking his prey meant keeping out of sight until he was ready to pounce. He rode along, listening to the sounds of the breeze as it slipped thorough the grasses. It reminded him a bit of the surf in Galveston. A wisp of a memory from childhood slipped across his mind only to be broken by a muffled crack carried on the wind. He knew the sound instantly and wheeled his horse upwind, in the direction of the trail. A second shot and then a third. Malachi spurred his horse while effortlessly drawing his Winchester repeater from its sheath and brought it to the ready. Riding over a low crest he saw the wagon with one shattered wheel lifted off the ground in the process of being repaired. Slumped in a heap next to it was the figure of a man, the ruby red stain of blood soaked through his shirt and covering his back. Mal saw three men, two with pistols and on foot, the last mounted and armed with a rifle. His horse was closing quickly and the former cavalry troop used his knees to slow the mount while he took careful aim at the rifleman- his only real threat at this range. He was one with the horse, Malachis body moving in concert with the beast beneath him. Squeezing the trigger as he had a thousand times before he watched down the barrel as the spray of blood exploded from the mans head and he tumbled from the saddle and he quickly chambered another round. He was nearing the wagon now and saw a second man lying on his back, dead in the grass alongside the road and a woman pioneers. The remaining gunmen, now alerted to Mals presence sought cover, behind the wagon. Mal fired again, striking one in the shoulder and pirouetting him around. He dropped the rifle to the ground and drew his pistols, never leaving his horse. Bullets sailed past him, angry buzzing through the air, but he paid them no mind. Hed faced walls of Union rounds hurled at him during the War of Northern Aggression- this was nothing. He fired again and again hitting the third gunman square in the chest. Everything was quiet, it had only taken seconds and three men lay dead and dying around him. He dismounted, holstered his pistols and retrieved his rifle. A man cursed and his head popped up from the deep grass, as he clenched his hands together in pain. A scream followed- shrill and terrified and like a jackrabbit a small girl burst up and started to run. The attacker, seeing his quarry escaping turned to stop her. It was all the time Mal needed. His rifle found its rightful place in the pocket of his shoulder and it barked once as flames erupted from its muzzle. His round hit her attacker square between the shoulder blades and his arms splayed outward, before he collapsed face first into the dirt. Malachai whistled and his horse trotted to him and he slipped into the saddle. He rode the girl down, but dismounted before reaching her. Stop. He called to her. Its over- youre safe. He squatted down in front of her, bringing his 6 frame to her eye level. His hair was a dark blond, his eyes ice blue and his face was tanned from days spent on the open prairie. Im Malachai, but you can call me Mal. He said with a voice so soft it belied the violence which he had just dealt. Whats your name? He buried her parents, taking the small cameo necklace her mother had worn and fastened it gently around the girls neck. She was nearly as old as hed been when lied about his age and joined the Confederacy to fight the Blue Bellies. After taking their guns and horses Mal left the thieves for the vultures. Hed intended to take her back to Wichita and put her on a train back East. But three days later, when they reached the dusty town, he just couldn't bring himself to do it, and Stella didn't seem to want to leave his side. So they rode on.