When The Hunter Becomes Prey (Preview)

Prologue

Logan Graybill was a healthy, strapping ten-year-old when his boring, mundane life erupted. 

Living on the ranch in Clearbrook, Oklahoma with his ma and pa and brother Arthur, was all he knew. And he didn’t mind that a bit. 

He was proud to be strong. Though he wasn’t as strong as his older brother, he was stronger than all the boys he knew. 

He had a unique look about him; something that followed him around and sometimes preceded him—one brown eye and one blue eye. His brown hair was long, shoulder length like his father. His brother, Arthur, elected to have his own hair cut very short, almost bald. 

Waking up early was never welcomed by Logan. That bright spring Saturday, it was more unwelcome than usual. He’d stayed up late the night before, reading by candlelight. Moby Dick was the most interesting novel he’d ever read. 

He could imagine himself on that big ship with that crazy Captain Ahab, a big whale proving to be much more of a cunning adversary than expected. 

When he’d finally gone to sleep, he dreamed about being that captain, going down with the ship over and over, while trying desperately to kill the wicked white whale.

Then his father’s voice cut into his dreamland, yanking him from its watery depths with a gasp. Logan propped himself up on his elbows. 

“What?” he mumbled. 

His father had slung the door open. It was nearly dawn, the light coming through his window a dark blue that would lighten as the minutes went by and the sun rose higher into the sky. “What is it, Pa?”

“I need you to go milk Bessie right now, Logan. Get dressed and go on out there.”

Resentment slid through Logan but he knew better than to talk back to his father. When he was given a chore, he was expected to hop to it. 

Still, while Logan respected and loved his pa a lot, he didn’t want to get out from under his warm blankets go into the chilly, early morning air. It was like a slap in the face that he didn’t like on any level. 

“The sun’s not even up, Pa,” he whined. “Why do I gotta go out so early?”

There was a pause that woke Logan up more than anything else. Then his father said in a low voice, “I’m making a special breakfast for your mother. I expect you up and in that barn in ten minutes, young man! Your brother and I are going to pick apples in the orchard. Make sure you’re quiet. I don’t want your mother to wake up.”

Another stab of irritation pushed Logan further away from that dreamland where he really wanted to be.

“He gets to pick apples while I gotta milk Bessie?” The words were out before he could stop them. Instead of staying warm under the blankets, Logan tossed them from his body and swung his legs over the side. He had a better chance of not being punished for talking back if he was actually doing what his father asked of him. 

He glanced over to his pa in the doorway, his large body tense. 

“When you’re done with that, get more eggs from the coop and start up the stove.”

“Yes, Pa,” Logan replied automatically, reaching for the shirt and pants he’d left on the chair by his bed. He could wear them one more time before they had to be washed, but he didn’t really want to put them on. He’d worked hard the day before and wanted a fresh shirt. Plus, they’d been sitting out, so they were extra cold.

He gave his pa a weak smile to make up for his attitude. He got a stare back in response and it took a few seconds but he got a smile, too, though it didn’t reach his father’s eyes. 

“We’ll be back in a half hour. You make sure you’re quiet when you’re in the house.”

“I know, Pa. I’ll be quiet. Don’t worry.”

 

A few minutes later, Logan was in the barn, looking for the stool so he could sit and be comfortable while milking Bessie. He found it under some sprouts of hay that had fallen from the bales nearby. 

He swept his eyes around the interior of the barn. It was black beyond the light cast from the lantern he held in his hand, but he knew what was back there: A loft with more hay on it and some extra supplies kept on shelves or in big burlap sacks. He wasn’t allowed up in the loft. His pa always said he would get hurt up there. 

Half of the huge barn was being used as a stall for the horses, so they didn’t have to have a separate building as a stable. He could hear the horses breathing and snorting softly. 

“All right you,” he said to the cow, sitting on the stool and proceeding to begin his task. 

Five minutes Logan sat, milking her, watching the pail below him slowly fill up. 

He kept on squeezing until he heard a sound outside that caused him to stop and listen. When he didn’t hear it again, he resumed squeezing…then stopped, hearing the shuffling once more. 

As quietly as he could, thinking he’d woken his mother, he stood up and went to the door of the barn. 

Logan froze, watching as his father and brother were led to the front of their house by five rough looking men. He thought they must be outlaws. Scoundrels, his pa called them. He could tell because they were dirty and unkempt and all were armed to the teeth. He even saw several ankle holsters. 

“Please,” his father was saying in a pleading voice, hands laced behind his head. “My family.”

The man holding him at gunpoint jerked his head to one of the others, and murmured something Logan couldn’t hear. 

His father heard, though, and began to yell out, “No, no! You don’t have to do that! You can have whatever you want! Please! You don’t have to… you don’t have to do that!” As he screamed, he jerked against the hands holding him, trying to get away from them. 

Logan’s skin lit up with terrified chills. He was holding his breath and didn’t even know it. 

“Please! Please!” His father’s voice distorted as tears clogged his throat. Logan felt his own tears sliding down his cheeks. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a gunshot was heard from inside the house. 

His father and brother both screamed, “No!” at the same time, falling to their knees, sobbing. 

Logan clapped a hand over his mouth and backed up a little more into the shadows of the barn. He turned away when he saw the leader lift his gun and point it at his father, hiding his eyes from what he didn’t want to see. 

He heard the crack of a bullet being fired, flinched once… then twice… assumed the second shot hit his brother. 

Immediately after the second shot, Logan heard a new sound—the sound of a native roaring with a warrior cry. Thunderous hooves sounded on the other side of the barn. 

He opened his eyes and peeked out, glancing at the bodies of his father and brother lying there. He had never seen a reaction from a bunch of outlaws like Logan saw right then. He stood dumbfounded, watching as the outlaws abandoned what they were doing, ran to their horses  nearby, mounted and took off away from the house. 

Logan stepped out and watched them, his mouth open in shock. The last man on his horse glanced over and caught sight of him. His face distorted and he raised his gun. 

Why can’t I move my feet? He thought. Did this happen to Pa and Arthur? Were they frozen with fear, too, in the last seconds?

Before Logan could react appropriately, the bandit shrieked, an arrow suddenly puncturing his arm. He dropped his gun, the horse reared, frightened by the chaos and bolted, almost bucking its rider off. The bandit managed to stay in the saddle, but didn’t try to turn the horse around. 

Logan’s eyes turned to the solo Indian coming out of the brush near the barn. The man was walking in his direction. Logan had never been that close to an Indian. 

He could tell when the native saw his multi-colored eyes. 

He scanned the Indian, who was much taller than he, his chest and arm muscles prominent, an obvious sign of his strength and agility. He was wearing a beaded vest and trousers, moved like a cat, and was next to Logan before the boy even knew it. For some reason, he wasn’t afraid though.

“You are alone now,” the native said, his voice deep, his English clear. “Come with me. I will care for you.”

 

Chapter One

Seventeen years passed like the turning of a page. 

Logan had stayed with the Navajo tribe after his parents were killed. 

His best friend, step-father and ultimate mentor was named Kota. They lived in a village called Hozho (Hoe-zoe meaning “peaceful river”). 

At ten, he’d had no idea who to turn to, or who to run back to. So he had stayed with the kind man who taught him everything he knew and made sure he was safe and as happy as he could be.

Then Logan had left Hozho for a quest that had been on his heart for many years. At the age of nineteen—ten years ago—he had decided to seek revenge on the men who had taken his family. Over the past decade, he’d hunted down and killed four of those five men—he’d never forgotten their faces, or forgotten what they had done.

He was on his last mission now. 

Logan knew where Harvey Dolan was through contacts he’d made when searching for the other four. It had gotten easier and easier over the years before Dolan; whose whereabouts had been reported to him through a chain of sources he’d made in three different states.

Of course, he had stayed in Oklahoma where he’d been born and raised to ten. But he also traveled to Arkansas and Missouri, where he’d discovered two of the five men he was seeking; one in each state. 

 

Today, he rode his horse to the bottom of a big hill where there was, conveniently, a hitching rail for horses. This was a trail made through the woods for recreational visits of the folks who lived in the nearby town of Vinton, where Dolan had been living for the past five years. 

Logan was a little sickened by Dolan’s public persona. He had done research on the man, and found that before five years ago the outlaw had devastated towns all over the state, violating women, stealing from banks, killing men, women and children.

Now, just a few years after his last murder, Dolan was picnicking with his wife and two children at the top of this very hill.

Logan didn’t care about the wife or the kids. They were safe from him. But today the man would get a few moments to reflect on the fact that he had taken Logan’s family away, and that now Logan was going to take him from his family. The hatred in his heart would not be abated until he had killed all the men who had killed his family. 

This one was significant. Not only was it the last bandit Logan needed to kill but he was also the only one with a family and, to top it all off, Dolan was the one who had gone in the house and killed Logan’s mother.

Logan slid out of the saddle, adjusting the tan cowboy hat on his head to allow a little more of the cool breeze on his sweaty brow. Unsatisfied with the result, he knocked the hat off and let it hang around his neck by its cord. 

“I’ll be right back, Flash,” he said solemnly, patting his horse on the neck. 

The hill was grassy and green from bottom to top. There were benches and fire pits and places to take the night under the stars up there. One just had to take the steps to climb up. At some point in the history of this hill, someone had the brilliant idea of carving steps into the side of the mountain and laying rocks down, so heavy rains wouldn’t wash the steps away. 

Logan checked for the bullets in his gun as he climbed upward. He emptied them out into his palm and put them in his pocket. From his upper vest pocket, he withdrew one bullet. It had an etching in the casing. It said ‘Number 5’. 

He saw a young couple sitting on one of the trail benches during the climb. They got up and moved away down the steps. Upon closer observation, he noticed the woman cast a frightened glance his way as they passed by. 

I must look like Hell. 

He’d been riding for a few days and had yet to bathe or get anything good to eat. He didn’t have time for that right now. He just wanted to get this last task over with. 

 

There was no one else in the recreational area when he got to the top of the hill. It was flat up there, allowing men to put whatever they wanted; which included a large pit filled with sand for children who wanted to play. 

No one else besides Dolan and his family seemed to be present. 

They were seated around a fire pit. The two children were Dominic, five, and Alexander, two. Logan had gotten all the information he needed about this family. 

He’d been looking for extra reasons to justify what he was about to do, and had discovered a rumor that Dolan liked to hit his wife, Carol, and possibly the children too. That didn’t come as any surprise to Logan. 

He stopped under a huge shade tree and watched the family, remembering how times had been before he’d lost the most precious people in the world.

Chapter Two

Logan was afraid. 

Kota, the Indian who had saved him, told him he would be safe in Hozho, which was his home village. But Logan was only ten and had always been told to fear the Indians. He was told they were violent, dangerous, and would kill without hesitation. 

He could see the village approaching in the distance. The sun was going down, sending streaks of multicolored rays across the darkening sky. Fires burned, and people sang, danced and chanted around them. 

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his body against Kota, who wrapped a strong, dark arm around him. He was seated in front of the Indian as they rode toward Hozho. 

“You have nothing to fear, little one,” Kota said quietly. “This is my home and these are friendly people. We will care for you.”

Logan’s only thought was that these were Kota’s people but they definitely weren’t his. So far in his young life, he’d had nothing to do with any natives. He’d never seen any in his hometown.

 

The reception from the people of the village was quite shocking. 

Logan’s initial fear that he would be rejected for his white skin was completely off the mark. He was welcomed by everyone except a few residents who saw him as a threat, even at ten. 

The most important thing was that Kota was a trusted warrior for the chief. Logan quickly found the rest of the Indians played along with the chief, who didn’t have a problem with his presence.

“This is Kachina, Logan. She will take you into her fold and raise you as her own. Will you not do this for his sake, Kachina?”

“I will do it,” the woman responded in a language Logan didn’t understand at the time. 

Later that evening, Kota sat next to Logan by a huge bonfire outside the biggest tent of all, the chief’s. They were seated on a blue, red, and tan striped mat that was made of material resistant to the harshness of the ground. 

Logan was given a turkey leg that had been roasted over the fire. It had been some time since he’d had a meal so he chewed and swallowed the meat with fervor. 

“Logan, if I had been there a few minutes earlier, I want you to know I would have fought beside your father against them; I would have tried to save your family.”

Logan nodded, fresh tears coming to his eyes as he thought about the family he’d left behind after burying them in the woods near the farmhouse, and leaving cross markers for himself so he could come back and visit. 

“That is… nice for you to say…” He couldn’t remember the man’s name. 

“Kota,” the man supplied.

The corners of Logan’s lips raised slightly. “Yes, Kota, I’m sorry, I’m not thinking clearly.”

“I’m sure you are not. And that is all right. It is the way we all are at times. I have been following those bandits for some time now. I had only heard at the last minute in the nearby town that they were headed your way. I rushed to get there but… I wasn’t in time. I will never forgive myself for that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Logan said automatically. He didn’t have to say it. He could have accused and blamed Kota. But what would be the point? In the end, his parents were still gone, his brother was gone, his life was gone. “But… how did you know about them? Did they… did they attack your village?” 

Logan looked around him with wide eyes. The sun had gone completely down but the moon had risen and was full and bright. White light bathed the land, creating shadows that grew long, thin clouds passed over them. The dancing flames in front of him caught his attention and he let himself gaze at them with fascination. 

“Yes, I knew of them, but they did not attack this village,” Kota responded. “I was visiting friends nearby. We had decided to go hunting. There was a herd of buffalo in the area and we were trying to stock up for the winter.”

Logan listened carefully. 

“These five men did not come into the village, they avoided it. They went around the outside. But when they encountered my friends patrolling to keep the rest of the village safe, they slaughtered them so they could not sound the alarm. They stole our valuables and violated the women before they killed half the men, and fled the village with jewelry worth a great deal, and leaving behind a devastated village.”

“I’m sorry.” Logan said the words quietly. 

 

The sound of a screeching child brought Logan out of his deep memory of arriving in the Navajo village. 

His skin tingled in anticipation as he watched the two-year-old boy splash around in a spring-fed rivulet on the hilltop. The boy’s brother stood nearby, egging him on, while his parents were side by side, sitting on a blanket.

 They made no affectionate motions toward each other. In fact, he saw Dolan reach to touch his wife and she shrugged away from him. This seemed to amuse the man.

Logan hadn’t asked for his task. He hadn’t been the one killing, looting, violating, and being a scourge to society. He didn’t go around killing anyone. He had specific targets and they all had it coming—every single one of them. 

His gaze focused on the woman. She was now smiling at Dolan, the past slight forgotten, gazing at him with doe eyes. It made Logan a little sick to his stomach. 

He didn’t know what it was like to fall in love with a woman. There were no natives in Hozho interested in becoming his mate. And he didn’t particularly want one, anyway. Not yet anyway. Maybe when he was older. Maybe after he killed this hapless criminal who was pretending to be nothing more than a family man.

Dolan was a liar, first and foremost. He should have been expecting his demise. Surely someone had told him that four of his old gang cohorts had been taken out.

Logan practically jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand come down on his shoulder. He spun around and glared at Kota, whose eyes were on Dolan thirty yards away. 

“Will you be satisfied when he is gone?” his friend asked. 

“Really wish you wouldn’t do that. You scared me to death.” 

Kota lifted his dark eyebrows. “You do not need to do this, Logan. This man has turned his life around.”

Logan shook his head, holding up one hand. “He’s a corrupt person, Kota, a bad man, and does not deserve to live after he took the life of my mother.”

Kota pulled in a deep breath. He had an understanding look on his face. But still, Logan knew he did not approve.