It’s a historical novel set during the reconstruction period in American history. The story revolves around a boy named Nathaniel who’s life’s failing apart in a country that struggles to reshape and find its own identity. Nathaniel finds himself with the opportunity to leave his troubled life behind for good and saddle up to ride with one of the West most notorious and dangerous outlaws. But is the outlaw life really the one for him, and what's the real cost of his this new life?
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The large wooden structure had stood fifty years. Inside the air was thick with a musty horse smell. The lanterns were put out for the night and it was black inside. Clinging close to the horse gates he quickly made his way to the far corner of the stable where a small bit of light poured in from the outside world. It was here that some of the boards that made up the wall stuck out a few inches. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to climb. In the pale light of the moon Nathaniel felt his way over the wall and found his grips. Like a racoon with a hound after him, he shot up the wall effortlessly and found a nook in the rafters.
Curling up in the thick cedar rafters of the stable, he was nearly twelve feet off the ground. It was a good hiding spot. He was like a bat hanging from the top of a cave. No one would see him in the shadows as the world moved inattentively under him. A dozen and a half horses stood silently. A few of them were still sleeping. It must have been earlier than he thought. Nathaniel waited on the sun to rise for what seemed like an eternity as time stood still. He stared at the main door on the far side of the stable waiting for the sun. Where would go? Somebody from school could hide him out for a while, maybe Mary. “Just cause trouble for her too,” he thought to himself after a minute. Whoever would hide him out would just end up getting punished for it he figured.
Before long Nathaniel would have to go home, he knew this. His father would take a switch to him for whatever it was he had done. At least he could run for now and maybe put off the punishment of his father for a day or so. He would be getting whipped anyway, why not make it worth it by hiding out for a time? He didn’t mind hiding out. This wasn’t the first time he had, and surely it wouldn’t be the last. Most the time, Nathaniel felt more at home in the rafters of some barn or laying back in the tall weeds near the timber then he did in is home. His mother ignored him most of the time, always having better things to do. And the only time his father had anything to do with him was when he was getting punished. A faint, orange glow suddenly filled the door.
The glow wasn’t from the sun. It came closer and filled the door. With it came the voices of men. They were the same ones from the house. In their hands they carried torches and guns. “Saddle up boys, we got some lynching to do!” Came the first yell. A dozen men filed in through the door. Zane Holmes was with them. Still, Nathaniel didn’t see his father with the men. Nathaniel sat motionlessly in the rafters of the stable and watched the commotion below.
“Don’t let’em find me,” he prayed.
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“Looks like we’re under surveillance, boys,” said Max as he stepped into the heart of his men’s camp with Nathaniel in tow. “Should we gut him right here? Or spare him–maybe just rip out his voice box and cut off his hands so’s he wouldn’t have anyway of telling what he’s seen.” The gang all laughed. Max stamped out what was left of his cigar. He slammed Nathaniel down on the ground in a sitting position. From his boot, Black Max Brown pulled a long and thin buck-horn handled knife. The moon reflected on it’s neatly polished, and surely, razor sharp blade.
“Tell me, child, just what are you up to tonight?” Max asked with a killer look in his black eyes.
“Just . . . just,” Nathaniel stammered to get the words out at first, then he gained control of himself. “Just running. Running away. I was sick of where I was so I lit out on my own tonight.” Max studied on this for a moment. “I saw your camp from the hill and wonder, thought . . . well . . . I'm alone.” Nathaniel wasn’t sure what he was saying or what he was even trying to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be gutted by some mad man with a boot-knife.
“We’re all alone inside, kid,” replied Max in an almost deep and philosophical tone. He stared Nathaniel deep in the eyes. It was the kind of look that could split you open. This man, Black Max Brown, had a way of breaking you without a single word. “So you lit out, huh? Aaron Clint not treating you right?” Nathaniel’s eyes shot wide open. Did Max know who he was? Could he know?
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A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and a yellow cloud of putrid cigar smoke circled Nathaniel’s head. “Son, you did all right.” Nathaniel saw Max hovering over him now.
“These men don’t have what it takes,” said Max as he stared into the darkness of the cave entrance and puffed on his cigar. “They’re here because I pay them. This is their line of work, their job. Someone puts me down, and they’ll move on and find another host, someone else to pay them. None of this matters to them.” His glance now fixed itself on Nathaniel. “Not you, my son, not you.”
Nathaniel stared at Max's gun that rested on the rock floor in front of him. It was like a heavy burden suddenly came over him. He tried to push the memories of the night from his mind. “Why?” Replied Nathaniel in a whisper. He turned his eyes from the gun and drilled them into Max. “Why do you do it?” His voice was now loud and clear.
Max took a deep inhale of the cigar. “Why? Why does a mustang fight the saddle?” He now stood. “Where else can and go? What else can he do? I tell you they took it all. What else we got left? I sent men--many men--to the grave. And for what? This country, this war, it's all a disgrace. Some things should have ended long ago.”
“The war’s over,” replied Nathaniel without thinking. “It did end long ago.”
Max glared at the boy and spat on the ground. “Maybe to you.” And he stormed off to check on the man counting the lute.
