A Promise of Thunder

reputation usually preceded him, and there were always men anxious to challengehim in those nameless towns along the Western Frontier. In the past six months he had drawn against more men than he could count on his two hands. Though he had rarely been the challenger, he was never reluctant to practice his amazing skills with a gun. Many of those men ended up dead by his hand, and more often than not the sheriff had escorted him out of town. Since he hadn’t been the one to offer the challenge, he had never been arrested, but Grady knew that one day his luck would change. Either he’d fail to outdraw his opponent and end up pushing up daisies in Boot Hill or find himself behind bars. Either way made little difference to him. His life had become a succession of violent acts for which his soul was forever damned. He didn’t even have the courage to go back home, despite the fact that his parents would probably forgive him if he mended his ways.
    Violence begets violence. Hadn’t those words been drummed into him as a child? Now it was too late to change his ways; too late for Summer Sky, whose life had been taken when she had had so much to live for. It would take a miracle to make him whole again, Grady decided as he hastened his steps toward the livery. His son, Little Buffalo, would be better off without him. Laughing Brook, Summer Sky’s younger sister, loved Little Buffalo dearly and would see to his raising. As for him, Grady wished that Grandfather hadn’t advised him to leave the People. His own restless spirit demanded satisfactionfor the brutal death of Summer Sky, and even though he hadn’t yet reached his twenty-sixth year he felt his life’s cycle drawing to an end.
    A miracle, that’s what he needed.
    Grady knew miracles didn’t exist.
    Suddenly, without warning, Grady’s keen perception sensed danger. He could smell it. Grady tensed, his hand hovering inches above his gun, every muscle in his body taut; his years of living precariously had taught him self-preservation and survival of the fittest. Every one of his instincts were intact when he sensed someone stalking him, someone whose revolver was already clearing his holster. Fortunately Grady was accustomed to performing at a disadvantage and had learned to work with it in ways that only Indians could comprehend.
    “Draw, Renegade! You killed my brother in Dodge City and now you’re gonna pay.”
    The roar of thunder sounded in his ears. The People had named him well. In that instant Grady Stryker ceased to exist and Thunder was reborn, swift, keen, perceptive—deadly.
    Sensing trouble, people on the streets scattered like leaves before the wind. Women screamed, clutching their children as they hustled them out of harm’s way, and men, placing themselves behind protection, watched with perverse fascination as the two men prepared to outdraw one another.
    Across the street, Storm Kennedy noticed nothing but Buddy approaching in the wagon.Expelling a sigh of relief, she stepped out into the street. Buddy stopped the wagon beside her, preparing to jump down and boost Storm into the seat beside him.
    “I found us a place to stay!” Buddy shouted, excited that he had obtained lodging in a city so obviously overcrowded. “We can sleep in a real bed tonight. Mrs. Luke over at the boarding house just threw out a guest because he couldn’t pay, so she let us have his room. I knew luck was with us.”
    “How wonderful,” Storm cried. Buddy’s boyish enthusiasm for this venture had fired her own, and she was as eager as he to claim their 160 acres of land and become landowners.
    Grady knew the odds were against him, but giving up wasn’t his style. He’d faced tougher competition than this during the past months. If he’d killed the man’s brother, it was because the brother had recklessly challenged him. He recalled that day in Dodge City, even remembered what the brother looked like. And as had happened so many times in the past, that face took on the characteristics of the men who had killed Summer Sky. The man had accused him of cheating at cards, drew, and lost. Grady felt no remorse over the death of another nameless white drifter.
    Gathering his wits, Grady turned and dropped to one knee, at the same time drawing and aiming. He knew from the sound of his voice exactly where the man stood—itwas an uncanny ability, knowing where the enemy was—and fired off a shot, all in the space of a heartbeat. The man squeezed the trigger an