By William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone
In Montana Territory, one identify certainly others moves worry and hatred within the hearts of the Crow Indians—John Jackson, greater recognized nowadays as Liver-Eating Jackson. fed on by means of grief and rage, the mountain guy has brutally killed ten braves to date in his one-man battle of vengeance opposed to the Crow, who murdered his liked wife.
Smoke Jensen is aware Jackson via one other name—"friend." He's unsure to what volume Jackson's exploits are true—devastating loss and frontier savagery have definitely pushed lesser males mad. whereas performing some trapping within the territory, Smoke hears that twenty of the Crow's so much fearsome warriors have banded jointly to seek down their nemesis. with out a moment concept, he rushes to his previous friend's aid.
But inspite of Smoke Jensen at his facet, the fierce and fearless Liver-Eating Jackson is probably not in a position to beat the chances this time...
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Additional info for Butchery of the Mountain Man (First Mountain Man, Book 41)
Then, just before nightfall, we mounted a convoy of camel carts and trouped into the Thar Desert. A banquet had been prepared under the stars, Rajasthani tribal dancers and campfires illuminating the night. Another day, and another city. This time, the crème de la crème – Jaipur. Capital of Rajasthan, it’s a raw and regal fusion of medieval and modern. One of the must-visit destinations for anyone, the ‘Pink City’ is steeped in nostalgia and in a dazzlingly vibrant charm unlike anything else. The highlight of the entire journey came for me that afternoon.
By now, there was a definite sense that it was our train, just as the thought of leaving it was almost too much to bear. Before stepping down onto the red carpet for the last time, my valet, Vikram, eased himself out from his cupboard in the corridor and saluted me. Then he shook me by the hand. ‘Very sad you leaving, Sahib,’ he said. I thanked him. He shook my hand a second time, and saluted again for good measure. A moment later, I was just another lost soul adrift on a sea of commuters. I glanced back at the platform.
The highlight of the entire journey came for me that afternoon. Having reached the Jai Mahal Palace, we were invited to take part in the sport of kings – a match of ‘elephant polo’. Mahouts steer the elephants, while the riders lean down with their mallets, in a desperate attempt to knock a football into the goal. Quite unlike the rip-roaring speed of equestrian polo, the game played on elephant back is sedate to put it mildly – the overwhelming problem being that the elephants tend to burst the ball by treading on it.