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Post by lee on Jan 14, 2023 3:25:36 GMT
I was wondering if anyone had a copy of the stories from the Yahoo Groups because I am looking for a Times Past story I wrote. It involved Dan Hunter, sidekick to Tomahawk, pursuing a murder suspect into the wilderness. If anyone remembers it, and would happen to have a copy, I would sure appreciate it if I could get a copy.
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Post by DocQuantum on Jan 14, 2023 9:43:22 GMT
Was it this one from the Earth-2 Prime group? I haven't read too many stories from that group, but I managed to track it down.
The Swede: A Times Past Story Pt. 1
Times Past: 1820 The Swede
Richmond, Virginia-1820
It was a cold November rain that fell on the night-shrouded Richmond homes. For three days, the heavens had remained open, pouring nature's wrath out upon the prominent Virginian city.
Thunder echoed through the canyons of the massive gray mountains of clouds overhead. Sporadically, streaks of blue-white light would dance around the edges of the clouds, calling silently to that mysterious source of energy hidden just beneath the Earth's surface. On occasion, the call would be answered, and the night would be illuminated as a result. And again, the thunder would echo.
In an upper bedroom of one of the homes, a young boy tossed and turned in an effort to get comfortable. The harsh display of nature on the other side of his windowpanes played no part in his restlessness; he simply could not sleep.
Resigning himself to the prospect of a sleepless night, the lad climbed from his bed, pulled on his stockings, and crept towards the window, each of these done with the utmost of care so as not to awaken anyone else in the Allan household.
With his chin in his hands, and his elbows propped on the sill, the boy looked out at the storm. As he watched, the constant patter of rain on the glass became an ever-increasing weight on his eyelids. He smiled a sleepy smile, knowing it wouldn't be the first time his family found him asleep at the window.
A sudden burst of thunder removed all traces of sleep from the young boy's eyes. Pressing his face to the glass, he searched the darkness beyond trying to see what had disturbed him.
Memories of when he first came to live with the Allans after the death of his mother came to mind. At the age of two, he was "adopted" by the childless couple and was placed into the care of their nurse, a Negro woman who came to love the child as her own. He remembered the many evenings he sat on her lap in the servant's quarters as they gathered and tried to scare each other with tales of terror. Perhaps that was what had roused him suddenly from his near-slumber. He strained, almost hoping, to see a ghastly apparition appear outside his window.
Thunder sounded again, and a flash of lightning accompanied it. Instantly, he realized why the crash of thunder had brought him fully awake; the thunder and lightning were not a thing of nature.
Despite the fear that now gripped him, the child kept his face pressed against the window. His macabre curiosity was quickly rewarded when the thunder and lightning came again.
From inside a house across the way and three doors down, the strange thunder and lightning that could only have been man-made revealed itself. He knew he should run and wake his father, but horrific fascination kept him rooted in place.
The overhead sky lit up with a natural display, and in that instant, when night could pass as day, a man stepped from the house and into the muddy street. He was big, one of the biggest men the boy had ever seen. Rivulets of cold rain streamed down the man's bald head, across his cheeks, and into his bushy blond beard plastering it to his barrel-like chest. The boy recognized him immediately.
Olaf Svensson had arrived in Richmond almost nine months ago. He had come from Sweden with the hopes of starting a business and bringing his wife and son to America to join him. With a set of hammer and tongs that once belonged to his father, he opened a blacksmith shop. Due to a reputation of craftsmanship and a pleasant disposition, he earned enough to send for his family five months later.
Lightning flashed again and the boy felt a fear run through him unlike any he had ever experienced before. Olaf Svensson, the man most simply referred to as "The Swede", looked straight at him. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
Again the sky brightened, but, this time, the street was empty. The Swede had vanished into the storm.
Morning brought a relief from the rain. As Mrs. Allan pushed the door open to her son's room, she was surprised to find her son still seated by the window. His gazed was transfixed on the house across the way and three doors down. Softly, she called his name.
"Edgar."
When she received no answer, she approached him and touched him lightly on the shoulder. Slowly, he turned and looked at her. His lips moved and a low mumble issued forth. When she knelt down beside him, his whispered the words again.
"The Swede. The Swede."
The Swede: A Times Past Story Pt. 2
A thousand miles west of the Mississippi-1821
An endless forest of blue spruce grew darker as the crimson sun began to dip behind the western mountains. A light June breeze pushed tiny waves of orange and red, gold and purple waves across the surface of the nameless lake. While many of creatures that called these woodlands home were preparing to settle in for the night, just as many more were waking for a night of hunting.
At the lake's edge, a large, majestic buck lowered its muzzle into the crisp, cool water and began to drink. Several white scars were visible on its flanks, testimonies to the battles for domination among his herd. While there were times the animal was instinctively cautious, especially when in the vicinity of the more savage beasts, this noble creature knew no fear.
Until now.
His ears suddenly pricked up, turning in every direction in an effort to locate the source of the disturbance. Water fell in large drops from the fur around his mouth as he raised his head and began to look around. As he surveyed his domain, his nose began to sort through the numerous scents drifting on the breeze. The buck ceased all movement when he detected a scent unlike any he had ever encountered. It was one he would never know again. As the grip of fear began to take hold, the buck made a leap for the safety of the woods.
The loud report of a Ferguson rifle echoed across the lake and throughout the surrounding mountains. The buck was in mid-leap when the burning bite of lead tore through his neck, severing his jugular vein in the process. The light of life was gone from his eyes before his hooves hit the ground and gave way beneath him.
Two men stepped from the cover of the forest and began to walk the sixty-odd yards to the dead animal. Neither of them spoke until they reached the buck.
"Even far from home," the younger of the two, a Seneca of the Turtle clan, said, "the Great Spirit provided us meat."
"The good Lord does provide," the elder of the two replied.
"There are times when I think this Lord of yours and the Great Spirit of my people are not too far from being one and the same," the Indian commented.
"You know, Dekanawidah, I suspect you might just have something there."
Without another word, the two men drew their knives and set to work preparing their kill.
Not more than three hundred yards from where the two men went about their task, hidden in the shadows of the forest, someone, or something, took great interest in the intruders.
* * * * *
After a good meal followed by a good night's rest, the two men were up bright and early, ready to resume their hunt.
"Are you sure we're on the right path?"
Dekanawidah examined the ground closely. "Yes. Although he is becoming very adept at making his way though the forests undetected, to those who know such things, he might as well be using whitewash to mark his way."
The answer seemed to satisfy his companion. Cradling his long rifle in the crook of his elbow, the man made his way further into the forest.
The Swede: A Times Past Story Pt. 3
Olaf Svensson was tired. To the best of his figuring, it had been almost seven months since he had left Richmond. Each day had been a day of pursuit; at first, it was he who was doing the pursuing, now, he had become the pursued. His nights were restless hauntings that tried to sap his will to go on. Even now, the memory of that night was as fresh, and as painful, as the moment it first happened.
The Swede had fallen asleep in his work clothes after a long day at his shop, and his wife could not bring herself to wake him. She had placed a blanket over him where he sat in his chair near the fireplace, then went upstairs to bed.
So deep was Olaf's sleep, that he had not heard the intruder enter his home. Unfortunately, his wife and son were awakened. Thinking that it was her husband finally awake, the woman, followed closely by her young son, went downstairs. By the man's silhouette, she knew she was mistaken.
Upon his discovery, the intruder had drawn his pistol and fired it twice, the first shot hitting the boy and the second, his mother. As thunder crashed outside, Olaf was torn from his sleep and jumped to his feet.
Surprised by the sudden appearance of the Swede, the intruder fired his pistol a third time. When the big man kept coming, the intruder fled.
Olaf started after the man, only to trip over something lying in the floor. When he knelt down, he realized it was the lifeless body of his son. His eyes then turned to his wife, and he knew at that moment that they were both beyond his reach. With no other thought but that of revenge, he began his chase.
In his grief, Olaf could not bring himself to step across the bodies of his family and follow their murderer out the kitchen door. Charging out the front door, he paused long enough to see if he could determine which that way the man had run. Luckily, or unluckily, as he had come to realize, a flash of lightning allowed him to see his enemy ride away. It also allowed him to be seen by the Allen boy from his window.
He had stopped by his shop just long enough to grab the only thing he could use as a weapon, his hammer, before starting out after the killer. These few extra minutes gave the man the time he needed to make his escape.
Olaf had picked up his trail leading west, but somewhere along the way, the man had doubled back. By the time he realized what had happened, he had become the hunted. It didn't take much to figure out how. Young Edgar had seen him emerge from his home and everyone had assumed the worst.
Olaf was tired. Knowing that his pursuers were getting closer by the hour, he decided that maybe it was time to stop running. He knew it meant the gallows, but all that would do would reunite him with his loved ones.
Olaf Svensson found a log and sat down to wait.
* * * * *
The two men were surprised to find Olaf waiting for them. When the Swede looked up, he couldn't suppress a sad smile.
"I should have know it would be you, Dan Hunter," Olaf said.
"We've come to take you home," the older of the two, a white man, replied.
"I have no home."
Dan Hunter lowered his Ferguson and approached the man. "I'm real sorry about what happened. Your wife and boy were given a fine burial."
"Thank you," Olaf whispered. "I guess I'll be joining them before too long."
Dekanawidah spoke. "Are you sick?"
"I might as well be," the Swede shrugged. "I know that it's the gallows that await me when we return to Richmond."
"That's why we've been trying to catch you," Dan told the man.
"I know."
"We know you are innocent," the older man continued. "We would have caught up to you sooner, but we ran into the fellow who did the killing. He wandered into our camp a couple of days into the hunt."
"But, how did you know he was the one?"
"The pistol he carried gave him away," Dan replied. "Not many men carry a four-barrel, and after remembering what the Allen boy said about hearing three shots so close together, things fell into place."
Dekanawidah glanced at the sky. "We still have a few hours of light."
The two white men glanced at him.
The Indian smiled. "If we leave now, that will be a few hours closer to home."
"Well," Dan asked, "what do you say?"
Tears of relief rolled down his cheeks as the Swede nodded. "Take me home."
The End
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Post by lee on Jan 15, 2023 20:22:34 GMT
That's it, Doc. Thanks so much for finding it for me. I appreciate it.
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