Merkabah Rider: The Mensch With No Name Read Online Free PDF Page A

from Indians is true?”
    “Well,”
said Gersh, “I didn’t so much escape. Hash bought me. He was a
Comanchero—that’s like an Indian trader. He seen me at one of the big meets at
Yellow House Canyon and bought me for a couple buffalo robes and a knife.”
    “Ah,”
said the Rider, smiling thinly, “so you didn’t break a Comanche chief over your
knee at six years old?”
    “Well,
that part ain’t totally true either. He wasn’t a chief,” Gersh said. The Rider
smirked, but the boy seemed serious.
    A
thought occurred to the Rider.
    “Why
do you wear your hair so long?”
    The
big youth shrugged.
    “My
mother told me a story one night, while we were layin’ in the wagon box out under the stars. It was about a man who never cut nor combed
his hair, never drank liquor…this man was sort of like I dunno, Davy Crockett.
He could whup lions barehanded, and he once tore the doors off a castle and
walked off with ‘em. I asked her if I could be like the man in that story, and
she told me I could. She called my father over and told him what I wanted, and
he put his hands, he had these big, warm hands…he put ‘em on my head and he
said some words. It’s the only time I ever remember being touched by my father
and my mother at the same time. I remember I felt real safe.”
    “That
story comes from the Book of Judges,” said the Rider. “The man’s name was
Samson. His parents dedicated him to the Lord as a Nazirite.”
    “What’s
that?”
    “It’s
an oath a man takes, a promise to God. A Nazirite never cuts his hair or trims
his beard. He never touches strong drink or any sort of grape, and he never
sets foot in a graveyard, or handles human remains. Men can take this oath any
time as a way to bring themselves closer to God, but in the Bible there were
two men who were dedicated as Nazirites as children, and they were granted
miraculous powers. The first was Samson. He was given great strength. The other
was Samuel, who became a prophet and was granted sacred visions. He anointed
the first Hebrew kings.”
    “So
it’s….sorta like your oath about not ridin’ horses?” Gersh ventured.
    “Yes.”
    “So….what
kinda powers does that give you?”
    Presently
the tent flap was drawn back and Hashknife entered with a clutch of men behind
him. The Rider and Gersh both got to their feet.
    “Well
now,” said one of the men, a gravelly voiced, mustachioed man in a flannel
coat. He was the oldest of the bunch, and carried a Henry rifle. “Here we are
waitin’ for you to mend so we can come and get you, and the breed comes and
tells us you’re up and askin’ for us. You ready to meet justice for the men you
killed, you villain?”
    “Hold
on, Colonel,” said a black man in a wool vest at his side. “I wanna hear more
about these men he says are comin’ to get him.”
    Several
of the other men in the tent voiced their agreement.
    The
Rider slid his rekel coat on and held up his hands for quiet.
    “The
one who got away—the dwarf,” said the Rider. “He’s gone to get friends. Like
the ones you saw.”
    “Closest
town with a telegraph is a day’s ride to the east,” said the black man.
    “That’s
right,” said the Rider. “So he’s on his way back by now.”
    “He’d
have to wait at least another day for them others to show before he headed back
this way,” the Colonel said.
    “I
wouldn’t bet on that,” the Rider said.
    “What
the hell is he doin’ heeled?” the Colonel hissed at Hashknife, upon seeing the
Rider’s pistol belted at his side.
    “I
didn’t have much choice,” Hashknife said.
    “Shoulda
known better’n to parole a murderer to a couple a sideshow clowns,” the Colonel
said, cocking his rifle.
    “I
didn’t murder anyone,” the Rider snapped. “Most of you here saw what happened.”
    “None
of us seen what happened to Mickey Cashion,” said one
man, a freckle faced red head in a dirty shirt and duck pants.
    “Yeah,
and what I seen was a man shrivel up and