Chapter 2
Suddenly, Charley Davis spoke up, his voice and demeanor very professional as he said, “Clyde Wilkins…” He turned to the others and looked at each one as he called out their names. “Archie Burnside, Leroy Hawkins, Roy Smith, and Bernie Lawson, I demand the town release this property back into the hands of its rightful owner, or I’ll advise my client to sue the hell out of all of you!”
“Charley, not you, too!” Clyde shouted. “You remember how it was.” He turned to the others. “All of you do! Hell, with no word from Storm for ten years, we all thought he was dead. That’s why we took possession of the ranch. Now he comes back and decides he wants it. Well, I’m sorry, but I ain’t handin’ over a ranch like South Wind to a drifter without any roots or assets of any kind.”
“He’ll have assets when you decide to take your grubby paws off his property!” the sheriff shouted, his face so close to Clyde’s the man leaned backward. “Why don’t you admit the real reason you won’trelease the property?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hell, Wilkins, you ain’t foolin’ anybody. I know what shape the town funds are in. You even have a problem payin’ me my measly little salary every month. A nice big ranch like South Wind would put Thunderbolt back in the black again, wouldn’t it?”
“All right, damn it, I’ll admit it. But that’s a fuckin’ empire out there, Sheriff. The Benedicts owned half the property between here and Thunderbolt Mountain. In case you don’t know it, that’s quite a spread, and puttin’ it into the hands of someone like Storm is a sin!”
* * * *
Storm listened as the room full of men continued to bicker back and forth. He was itching to get in the middle of it and break a few heads, but he had to admit that everything had happened just the way they said. There was a mine explosion at the Copper Queen, and he was lucky to come away with nothing more than a head injury that made him dazed and disoriented. He didn’t remember it, but they say that duringhis recuperation period he’d simply wandered away, never being heard of again—until ten years later.
They’d questioned him over and over, but all he could tell them was that one day he was workin’ in the mine, and the next he was in a doctor’s office in Durango, Colorado. He couldn’t remember anything about the ten years in between, but he would never forget the day his memory came back to him.
The day the mysterious veil of darkness began to dissipate, it seemed to come apart in strings. These shadows would stretch and drift apart until they revealed a small dingy office. Nothing was familiar. He even felt different. Instead of having a teenager’s scrawny body, he looked down at his muscled frame, and wondered where he was. Noticing movement, his gaze shifted toward the old, gray-haired man who was cutting bandages. “Where the hell am I?”
The old man looked around and smiled. “Welcome back. By the way, I’ve been expecting you. How does your head feel?”
“It hurts a little,” Storm said as he moved to get up. “Just tell me where I am.”
“No, don’t move yet. You’re in Durango, Colorado.”
Storm looked around. “How the hell did I get here? The last thing I remember I was diggin’ in a mine when suddenly…” Storm’s words faded when the mine exploded again in his mind. “It blew up,” he whispered.
“Right, but that was ten years ago.”
“Ten years? Ten years, hell, it just happened…”
“Look son, it happened ten years ago. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then. Like a bankrobbery?”
“But it couldn’t…”
“Sorry, I don’t know about that. All I know is somebody brought you in here after the bank was robbed.”
“I robbed a bank?”
“No, not you. Johnny August. You were just somebody who got in his way. I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow you got whacked over the head, which is probably what brought your memory back. Anyway, you lost a good amount of blood, but I think you’ll be okay.” The doctor put a finger beneath each eye, stretched them open, and looked into them. “Do you know who you are?”
“My name is Storm….” He winced when he felt a pain. “Storm Benedict.” When the pain subsided, he looked curiously at the doctor. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name’s Galen Stoddard. I’m the doctor here. I must say you were lucky to come out of this with nothing more than a gigantic headache. A couple of people were killed in the robbery. You’ll be okay, though. If you feel like it, you can get up now, but no sudden movements.”
Storm threw his legs over to the side and stood up. He began digging in his pockets but came up with nothing. “Look, Doc, I’m afraid I don’t have no money to pay you.”
“I wouldn’t take it even if you did. All I did was put a bandage on that hard head of yours.”
Storm looked over and saw a hat and asked, “Is that mine?”
“It must be. You were wearin’ it when they brought you in.”
After grabbing the hat, he said, “Well, thanks, Doc—”
“Before you go, take this with you.” The doctor handed him a box of small envelopes. “I’ve already given you one of these for the pain. It’s nothing but headache powders. When your head starts hurtin’ again, just empty an envelope of powder in a glass of water, drink it, and in a few minutes you’ll be asgood as new.”
“Thanks again, Doc, I sure appreciate it.”
Storm was on his way out when suddenly he caught a glimpse of himself in a wall mirror and paused for a moment. He stared for several seconds at the stranger he saw. The stranger that according to the doc, was ten years older. As a kid his dark hair had been short, but now it was hanging down to his shoulders.He’d been smaller then, but now he was muscled and rough looking. He had the shadow of a beard on his face, and he was dressed in a black shirt, pants, and hat. He also had on black boots with silver spurs. Although the image he saw was familiar, he seemed roughed-up and dirty—sort of like a hellish gunslinger ridin’ up out of the bowels of an abyss.