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Wild Pony Publishing
Harlan McFadden, a daughter's murder, a father's revenge
Harlan McFadden, a daughter's murder, a father's revenge
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The brown-skinned man bent his ear to the wind. The childish laughter of a little girl, and the distinct barking of a puppy raced toward him. With the back of a leathery-skinned hand, the waste of human life wiped at the dark spittle of the invigorating betel nuts and coca leaves staining his chin. And he felt 'that' sick urge growing.
Frantically searching for his 7 year old daughter, Harlan McFadden followed the foot prints of his child and those of the little puppy. His panic increased the deeper into the mesquite he ventured searching for his sweet Sue Ellen. Armed with a Marlin Thirty-thirty bush rifle he pushed ahead, his heart pounding with fear for the safety of his daughter. A 'bird's eye view' would speak of the immense expanse of the desert-land of west Texas known as the Permian Basin and tell of the worn foot-paths of illegal Mexicans bringing death to America in heavily laden backpacks. This was a bad place to be, even for a man carrying a rifle, and even more-so for a child chasing a puppy.
Harlan paused to get his bearings. A cry, muffled, barely audible, came from beyond a slight rise. A shrill, short yelp of a puppy in great pain hurried him toward the rise of sand. He pushed aside the clump of straw grass atop the mound. He saw something no father should ever see--his child beneath the filthy Mexican.
Her eyes cried out for her father, his for her--each and all locked in a futile embrace. She watched as her father raised the Marlin. Her sky blue eyes faded to pale as the illegal Mexican grinned at the father and snapped the already dead child's neck.
Harlan pulled the trigger. The shot wild and wasted, as the Mexican, pulling at his trousers, fled into the mesquite.
Once upon a time, Harlan was a husband. He was a father. He was a Texas lawman.
But now, he was none of those things. Now he was a hunter, a killer, one looking for revenge. And with no one to help him, he becomes a law unto himself.
Frantically searching for his 7 year old daughter, Harlan McFadden followed the foot prints of his child and those of the little puppy. His panic increased the deeper into the mesquite he ventured searching for his sweet Sue Ellen. Armed with a Marlin Thirty-thirty bush rifle he pushed ahead, his heart pounding with fear for the safety of his daughter. A 'bird's eye view' would speak of the immense expanse of the desert-land of west Texas known as the Permian Basin and tell of the worn foot-paths of illegal Mexicans bringing death to America in heavily laden backpacks. This was a bad place to be, even for a man carrying a rifle, and even more-so for a child chasing a puppy.
Harlan paused to get his bearings. A cry, muffled, barely audible, came from beyond a slight rise. A shrill, short yelp of a puppy in great pain hurried him toward the rise of sand. He pushed aside the clump of straw grass atop the mound. He saw something no father should ever see--his child beneath the filthy Mexican.
Her eyes cried out for her father, his for her--each and all locked in a futile embrace. She watched as her father raised the Marlin. Her sky blue eyes faded to pale as the illegal Mexican grinned at the father and snapped the already dead child's neck.
Harlan pulled the trigger. The shot wild and wasted, as the Mexican, pulling at his trousers, fled into the mesquite.
Once upon a time, Harlan was a husband. He was a father. He was a Texas lawman.
But now, he was none of those things. Now he was a hunter, a killer, one looking for revenge. And with no one to help him, he becomes a law unto himself.
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