Walker's Trail: The Augusta Road
Sometimes, the hardest trail to follow
is the one that leads you back.
Zach Walker is done with trouble. All he wants is to make it home—to the girl he’s shared everything with—and leave the past behind on the trail. But the mountains have other plans.
A venomous snakebite nearly claims his life, but salvation comes from a kindly couple living on the edge of nowhere. When he wakes, Zach finds himself trapped in a deadly feud where every kindness hides a motive and every shadow conceals an enemy.
Outlaws prowl the ridges. Revenge burns through generations. And a beautiful, mysterious girl on the Augusta Road may be the key to saving him—or the one who leads him deeper into danger.
As bullets fly and secrets unravel, Zach Walker must decide whether to keep running toward the life he wants—or stand and fight for the one he’s stumbled into.
In the wild heart of the Blue Ridge, even love must fight to survive.
Excerpt
Taken from Chapter One:
Chapter One
I was in a mighty awful hurry to get home, and I suppose I’d been pushin’ Uncle Chad and the horses a bit hard. But since I’d found out how Cady felt about me and figured out how I felt about her, I could think of nothing but getting to her.
When we parted ways, Caty had been kind of standoffish. She had been wonderful in taking care of my injuries, but after I was better, she seemed to lose interest, I thought. I hadn’t realized at the time she was mourning the fact that I was leaving her. Had I known that then, I likely would have never left.
She did tell me, though. I just didn’t understand. She said something to me in Spanish as she rode off, and at the time, for all I knew, she was telling me good riddance.
Uncle Chad knew, and I think he got pleasure out of not telling me. Instead, he made me learn some Spanish words until I could figure it out for myself. I suppose it worked out good that way because I had to figure out myself, too.
We finally rode into Waynesboro in the late afternoon, well-worn from the saddle. Uncle Chad insisted we stay over, and I have to admit, as anxious as I was to get home, I couldn’t take another minute of riding or sleeping on the ground. We still had a two or three-day ride to get home. I reasoned one night in town wouldn’t make much difference.
Boarding our horses at the livery, we paid for extra feed and a rubdown. They deserved it. We had been riding hard for several days, and they had no more than scrub grass and a little corn to go on.
We were also in dire need of some tending to. Our meals for the past few days consisted of hoe cakes and salted ham. I did manage to shoot a scrawny rabbit yesterday, and we roasted it. It was good, but it sure could have used a little salt.
When our horses were settled, we got a room at the Waynesboro Hotel, ordered hot water for a bath, and sent our clothes out for a cleaning. As best I recall, my last proper bath was in Senoia ten days back. The hotel even sent out for a barber so we could get a shave whilst sitting our sore backsides in warm water. I had nothing but chin whiskers to care for, but he obliged me, took them off, and gave my hair a trim. When I got out of that bathwater, it was dark as tea, and I figured I was a few pounds lighter. I’d been itching in places I didn’t want to itch for the past few days.
The hotel was nice, although a bit pricy for the small town. It had spacious rooms, and there was a fine-looking restaurant just down the road. I was looking forward to a good meal and a comfortable, off-the-ground bed for a change. While I certainly don’t mind sleeping under the stars, it does get old after a few days.
The restaurant wasn’t fancy, though it had nice tables with tablecloths and seemed clean enough. We got served up some mighty good stew, and the cook knew how to make lard biscuits that tasted almost as good as Grandma’s.
Finishing our meal, we sat for a while, sipping coffee and contemplating our trip so far and what lay ahead. Pushing hard, we could make it home in just two days, three at the most. I was for pushing hard. I was ready to be home and to see Caty.
The walk back to the hotel was just a city block away…less than five minutes, and we would be in our room and soon in a comfortable bed. It would have been, except our walk took us right past the saloon.
All was going well until we got in front of the saloon, and somebody called out, “Hey, mister…”
We both turned and looked. It was an old-timer sitting on the boardwalk. He was small, dirty, and looked like he hadn’t seen a good meal in a long time.
“Mister, can ya spare enough for a short beer?”
Chad smiled and reached out a hand to help the fellow up. I should have known it was all the excuse he needed.
“Come on, Old-timer. I’ll do better than that…I’ll buy you a full beer.”
I don’t know how he could even think of it or how he had the energy, but he decided it would be a good idea to go in for a drink or two. Reluctantly, I obliged him and followed along.
I hoped he would buy a drink or two for the man and one for ourselves, then call it a night. I wasn’t even thinking about it being a Saturday night and the saloon being packed with folks. With this being the only saloon in town, farmers and miners, old and young, came here to enjoy a little entertainment.
It was a modest place with simple tables scattered around the open floor. The faint smell of whiskey mingled with the aroma of tobacco smoke as card games and lively conversations echoed throughout the worn wooden walls. Men crowded around the bar, sipping whisky and swapping tall tales. The faint sound of a piano could be heard over the noise of laughter.
We found a table, and it wasn’t long for Uncle Chad to order a bottle and have one of the girls bring it over. I should have known it would be a long night when she came and sat with us.
I sipped from his bottle at his urging; one was enough for me. When I refused another, he ordered me a short beer. Hard liquor wasn’t my drink, and I hardly ever drank a beer. Every time I took a drink, I could hear my Ma's words about how there was evil in a bottle and the man who took it. Of course, she would defend that my pa would take a drink in the evenings after he finished work.
Chad bought the old-timer a beer, as he said he would, and had the girl bring over some boiled eggs and bread. The old man quickly swallowed three eggs and washed them down with beer. While still chewing on the eggs, he thanked Chad and me for our generosity.
“I was once a wealthy man,” he said between mouthfuls. “Dat was a’for the war. Had me a big farm, I did. Sherman burnt it…burnt it to the ground and took anything that was left.”
There was deep resentment in his voice. I had heard it many times. Swallowing down the last of his beer, the old man thanked us again and abruptly left. I watched him as he staggered out, not from drink but age and poor health.
The young girl sitting with us rolled her eyes and let out a long sigh. “I didn’t think that old coot was ever goin’ leave.”
“Now, Missy…poor old fellow was down on his luck. Nothing wrong with a little charity,” Chad replied.
“If ya gonna be charitable, I could use another drink,” she said, holding up her glass.
I hoped one drink would be enough for Chad, but I should have known better. An hour passed, and he was now deep into a card game with good winnings and having the time of his life. The girl, Missy, was enjoying herself too, hanging on to Chad and sharing in his good time. As for me, I was tired and ready to call it a night and said as much.
Uncle Chad gave me his blessings and told me he would be up soon, promising an early start for home the following day.
As he talked to me and bid me good night, a young fellow came up and started getting close to the girl hanging on Chad. Now, I know Uncle Chad, and if the girl had wanted to talk to the other man, it would have been okay with him, but she didn’t. She wanted no part of this young man and told him so.
The man, however, wasn’t taking no for an answer, so Chad politely asked him to let the girl be. Naturally, with a good bit of alcohol for courage, the man told Chad where he could go and grabbed the girl up from the table by her arm.
Uncle Chad stood and grabbed him by the arm, painfully bending it back and pulling him off the girl. When he turned him loose, Chad politely told the young man to let her be and even offered to buy him a drink. The young fellow, however, was mad as fire and bowed up, making his challenge.
“I don’t need no charity from a cripple,” he shouted in Chad’s face. “And I ain’t gonna take to no cripple puttin’ his hands on me.”
He was referring to Uncle Chad missing the part of his arm below his elbow that had been taken off in the war.
Thankfully, none of us wore guns, so this only meant one thing. The young fellow stepped in with his fist clenched.
“Now, look, son, there’s no need to fight over this,” Chad tried to reason with him. “There’s other girls in here I’m sure would like to have a drink—.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” Missy interrupted. “Nobody wants the likes of his company.”
Chad quickly glanced at her with a frown and turned his attention back to the man just in time to avoid a fist in his mouth. Chad then reciprocated with two quick jabs to the young man’s nose. He staggered and wiped away a small trickle of blood from his lip.
Cursing, he grabbed up a whiskey bottle, broke it, and held it like a knife.
“Mister, I’m about to cut your other arm off,” he swore. Of course, Chad just smiled his warm smile and waited for him to make his move. Before the young man could, a voice boomed over the crowd, drawing everybody’s attention. I figured him to be the sheriff the way the room quieted.
“What’s goin’ on ‘ere?” The fellow stood out. He was both big and loud. “What’s this feller done to you, Ty?”
“He’s interfering where ‘e’s got no place. I was trying to have a drink with Missy.”
“That true, Mister? You interfering wi’d my brother?”
“Ask the girl?” Chad replied.
“What of it, girl? This man keeping you from ‘aving a drink with my brother?”
The girl frowned and turned away. “No. I don’t want to have a drink with him. In fact, I don’t want nothin’ to do with him. He’s broke as always and causing trouble. Not only that, he stinks of tobacco and whiskey.”
The young man snarled and cursed. “You best watch what y’ sayin’ girl. There’s going to be time when you’s alone, and things could go bad for ya.”
“Ty! Shut yo’ mouth and let’s go.” The older one warned.
“Not ‘til I teach this cripple some manners, I ain’t.”
“Ty, I’m tellin’ y’ let’s go. The sheriff liable to be ‘ere in a minute and we don’t need no trouble.”
Ty hesitated momentarily, then let the broken bottle slip from his fingers. Glaring at Chad and pointing a finger, he said, “There will be another day, Mister.”
Chad gave an agreeable nod.
“Sorry, folks,” the older man announced and smiled at the crowd. “You know how these younger folk get when they drink…’ specially when it involves a trashy woman.”
After they left, the saloon returned to its incessant revelry, and I left Uncle Chad.
As I said, it wasn’t a bad hotel. There were two beds; both looked to be three-quarters size, with a small table and lamp beside each bed. Across the room were two upholstered parlor chairs with ottomans to match. A stain was on the floor near the doorway that I couldn’t identify and didn’t give much thought to. My eyelids were heavy, and I felt the unmistakable pull of sleep.
Our room was on the second floor, and I cracked the window near my bed to let in a little fresh air. It was a cool night, and the air had a nice crispness. There wasn’t much noise, only a muffled laughter or two from the saloon down the street, not enough to disturb my sleep. Grateful to finally be able to, I shucked off all but my skivvies and slid into bed.
I vaguely remember Uncle Chad coming in. It was sometime after midnight or better. He fumbled around a bit and finally quieted off and went to bed. Drifting back off to sleep, I was sleeping sound when a knock on the door roused me.
At first, I thought I was dreaming it and only opened my eyes long enough to take a glance around the room. Then, there was a series of knocks, soft but rapid. Sitting up, I glared at the door in disbelief. The room was dark, except for faint moonlight emanating from the window. Through groggy eyes, I pulled back the cover and made my way to the door.
“What?” I managed to say. My voice was dry and croaky, and I wondered if the intruder had heard.
“It’s Missy,” came the reply. The voice sounded like a young girl.
“I don’t know any, Missy.” I rubbed my eyes and tried to push away the cobwebs from my mind. “You’ve got the wrong room.”
“Missy,” she repeated. “I was at the bar sitting with you and yo’r friend.”
“Wha…what do you want?” I rubbed my tired eyes and leaned against the doorframe for support.
“Please, mister…can you open the door? I need your help.”
Her voice was soft and pleading.
“Hold on,” I told her, slipping on my long trousers. I was frustrated from being woken and cautious. As I went to the door, I threw my shirt over me without taking time to button it. Holding my revolver in my right hand, I opened the door a few inches.
From the dim light in the hall, I could see her standing there, and she had a pitiful, pleading look about her. She was a cute little thing, perhaps eighteen, with straight brown hair down to her shoulders and pale white skin.
“What do you want,” I asked in what I thought was a polite way. She frowned.
“I thought you were a gentleman.”
I rubbed my tired eyes and fought my cloudy mind.
“It’s a little hard to be social after being woke up,” I said. “Can I help you?”
“I … I need a place to stay,” she said abruptly, glancing nervously down the hall as she spoke.
“What do you mean, a place to stay?”
“That fellow at the bar…the one who was starting something…he followed me when I left the saloon. I didn’t know where t’ go, so I ducked in here. The man at the front desk told me your room number.”
“My room?” I was missing something and tried to put it together in my head.
“You and your friend…you stood up to them. I just knew you were gentlemen and would help…”
I swallowed hard and blinked my eyes a few times. I didn’t know what to say to her.
“Can … can I come in?”
Her words were so pleading I had no choice but to open the door.
“Thanks,” she said, easing herself past me. “I promise to be no trouble, and I’ll be gone by morning. I just can’t go out there and let them follow me home. I live with my older sister―.”
“You can sleep in my bed,” I interrupted her ramblings.
“Oh … no, I can’t take your bed.”
“Go ahead, I can sleep in the chair. I will sleep anywhere … if I can just sleep.”
She stood there for a minute, biting her thumbnail while gazing at me through big blue eyes.
“You don’t mind?”
“No, I don’t mind. Just don’t make any noise. My uncle is sleeping, and I’d like to be too.”
“Oh, I won’t,” she promised. “And I will be gone before daylight. You just got to know those two men…especially that young one, Ty … he doesn’t take no for an answer. But when I saw how your uncle stood up and hit him quick as a cricket … well, I knew you were both gentlemen, folks, and I’d be safe with you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and flopped down in an upholstered chair and pulled a blanket over me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her, with what little light was in the room, drop her dress and get down to her undersleeves before climbing into bed. I have to say, I was a bit embarrassed by her brashness.
I slept in a parlor chair and slept hard the rest of the night. I don’t know how, but Uncle Chad slept through it all. Come morning, when I awoke, the girl was thankfully gone. She must’ve gotten up before daylight, dressed, and left like she said.
I checked our belongings just to make sure we hadn’t been taken. Everything was there. I can only guess she was legit in what she was asking.
All through breakfast, Uncle Chad laughed and accused me of dreaming the whole affair since he had never woken up and seen the girl. He insisted we go over to the saloon before leaving so he could ask her himself.
She was there, and they both had a good laugh over the whole affair, Chad joking about how it embarrassed me. Morning turned into afternoon, and afternoon turned into night. Before I knew it, we would be reserving the room again.
Now, I have to say Chad’s always been my favorite uncle, and I think right highly of him most of the time; however, I was starting to be a bit aggravated since we arrived in Waynesboro. We should have been home from the mountains by now, but Chad, as usual, wasn’t in any hurry.
It’s not that he is so much of a drinker; he just likes to socialize, and socializing for Uncle Chad could mean spending the night with a lady or a good fistfight. Didn’t matter much to him either way. By his way of thinking, we might never get up this way again, and he wanted to be sure he was remembered.
As it turned out, that little lady we met on the first night wasn’t much his type, being she was a bit too young. Her older sister was just his type, and she took a quick liking to Chad. The younger girl, Missy, had her sights on me and was quick to let it be known. I did what I could to keep it friendly. I told her I’d be leaving soon and wasn’t looking for companionship.
What was supposed to be one night in town had turned into three, and while I couldn’t fault Uncle Chad for his vices, I eagerly wanted to get home. So, on that third day, I left Uncle Chad and struck out on my own.
At first, he wasn’t having it, me taking to the road alone, but I reminded him that I had spent many nights alone and in less than favorable conditions. I also reminded him that I had a reason to get home. Caty was waiting. He laughed at that and reluctantly agreed for me to go, telling me to let Grandpa know he would be along in another day or two.
So, I left Uncle Chad to his vices early the following day and rode southeast from Waynesboro toward home. My horse, Whistler, seemed to be in good spirits as if he knew we were finally heading home and him back to his stall. I had no trouble urging him into a canter for the first mile or so outside town. After that, we slowed to a good walking pace for the day.
It had been good revisiting the mountains, although it didn’t turn out how I expected. The girl I knew, Rebekah, had gotten married and moved away. I wished her the best and told her family so.
She was a good friend when I needed it most. And while I might have expected more when I started this journey, I guess it turned out good, all in all. Rebekah had moved on, and I’d moved on also, having felt more than drawn to Caty after our time together. So, things worked out for the best, I think.
I had hoped to see my old Indian friend Gvhe while there, but I suppose he also moved on. By all accounts, he had himself a companion of his own. I owed a lot to him, including my life, and I wished him the best.
Summer was coming to an end, and the mornings, thankfully, were a bit cooler. Leaves were just beginning to change; as summer gave way to the subtle hints of autumn, the once lush and vibrant pastures gradually transformed into a golden hue of dry, brittle grass.
Harvest time was over in Georgia for the most part. My grandpa would have by now planted his fall garden with greens, turnips, and other plants that enjoyed the cooler weather. Ma and Grandma would be canning pears and such for use when the season was over.
Soon, the air would transform into a crisp chill, and the leaves would dance from the trees in mesmerizing red, orange, and gold hues.
Although the big harvest was over, it didn’t mean there would be time to relax. Cooler weather meant time to repair fences, cut yearling pigs, butcher and smoke meat, and make syrup. While I love sugarcane syrup, making it takes time and can be a hot, sticky job. Still, it’s a good time to get together with the old timers who come by to help and to hear their tales of the days before and after the war.
There was always the talk of the Andersonville Prison, which interested me. Stories of those who served and those held there, all bitter over what they saw was injustice. Many of those who served were still angry over the hanging of Captain Henry Wirz for war crimes, saying he was just taking orders. They say he may have been in charge of the prison at the close of the war, but there was plenty of blame for what happened there to go around.
The war had been brutal for everyone all around. Both enslaved people and the free lost a lot. I just hoped it could all be put behind us now.
I don’t rightly know the name of the road I traveled, but I knew where it would take me. Some called it the old Wrightsboro Trail, first used by the Creek Indians and mountain men who settled the land. Others called it the Augusta Road. Whatever it was called, I knew it would take me home, and it was the surest and safest way to travel.
An old fellow in town told me at the livery I could save some hours by taking a cut-off trail through the woods, but I rejected the idea. Something about taking side trails didn’t sit right with me since my time in the mountains.
As roads go, this one wasn’t bad. Frequent travelers by wagon kept it cleared of most brush, and it was plenty wide enough for Whistler and me to travel. It did twist and turn a bit, just like the old timer had said it would, following the contour of the land and a river edge rather than being a straight shot.
I had to go around a washed-out place or two and a little mud, but Whistler took it all at a good pace. I was relaxed and rested, enjoying my time in the saddle almost as much as I was out for a Sunday ride.
The squeak of leather beneath me and the bright sun above me had almost a hypnotic effect, and I rode easy, daydreaming of home. Of course, my thoughts were mainly of Caty. I ran it over and over in my mind how it would be when I reached home, and we met up again. Most of my thoughts were of her running to me with open arms and a smile.
I also had to wonder if that would indeed be the case since I was the one who left her to chase a dream. It could be she thought better of things since we last spoke. It could even be she met up with somebody else… I urged Whistler into a trot.
About mid-day and a good twenty miles behind us, I looked for a place to stop and rest. I was sure Whistler could use some water and a little fresh grass to chew. As for me, my backside needed a break from the saddle, and my stomach was doing a righteous amount of complaining. My last meal had been early the evening before. Though a righteous good meal it was: fried catfish with grits and cornbread, I was in need of more.
I didn’t eat breakfast with Uncle Chad when I left. I was afraid breakfast would turn into lunch and a quick trip to the saloon for a parting drink, and then, before I knew it, I would be staying another night. So, instead, I grabbed a biscuit from the dining room on my way out of town and put it in my haversack for later.
Finding a spot close to where a creek ran near the road, which I believe is called Beaverdam Creek, I stopped to give us a rest. Plenty of grass was around the bank for grazing, and there were some big trees for shade.
The riverbank was alive with the sounds of insects and birds, and the smell of rotting wood was in the air. Most of the bank had a bit of a drop-off, nearly three feet to the water’s edge, except for one spot that made a nice level slope.
I scouted the area close before leading Whistler down to drink, as copperheads were on the move this time of the year, and I didn’t want to run across one. Of all the snakes in Georgia, Copperheads had to be the orneriest of all; that and cottonmouths.
Satisfied it was safe, I led Whistler down to drink. Once he was filled, I knelt by the water's edge and, cupping my hands, took a long drink myself.
The water was dark and cold with a slight sweet taste. As I drank, I noticed a leaf on the water moving along with a slow current. Moving water is a sign that the water is likely good. Water that doesn’t move can be stagnant, bringing a whole passel of trouble I don’t need.
Taking the saddle off Whistler and the bit from his mouth, I let him chew grass while I selected a spot under a big oak and sat on an exposed root. Whilst I rested, I pulled out that cathead biscuit I’d picked up in Waynesboro from my haversack, and ate a bit of jerky. While I ate, I listened to a squirrel chatter, complaining about me being under his tree.
I hadn't seen another soul since I'd left civilization behind, and I was glad of it. I wondered how many others had stopped at this place to rest. There was no sign, but I couldn't help but wonder if others in years gone by had chosen this very spot to rest themselves before traveling on. What it was like for the travelers of old, those brave souls who had ventured forth into the unknown, seeking something more.
I ate enough to satisfy myself and rested for about half an hour before dragging myself up to push on.
As I put the saddle on Whistler, I thought I heard voices coming up the road. I stopped what I was doing and listened carefully. Sure enough, I heard a man’s laughter. Hurrying, I cinched the saddle and pulled myself up, giving my horse a little nudge.
It’s not that I don’t like people; I mostly do. It was just that I was in a hurry and didn’t need any distractions.
No sooner than I hit the road, I heard someone give a holler behind me.