H.W. Peterson's Miners' Cut Mysteries

Happy Good Friday! Today I have included the first two paragraphs from the forward of "The Miner's Cut, Part I.....Waiting". Enjoy.

Arizona would have been better. Anything would have been better than this. It was dusk on a cold December day in Colorado's San Juan Mountain Range with blowing snow and driving with that were relentless. Leaving the mountains years ago, he had forgotten what he always thought a strange weather phenomenon: after a storm....a big storm...the clouds would separate revealing a galaxy of stars lighting up the night. Then the temperature would drop...substantially. No gradual decline. Just a nosedive. Those days, another lifetime ago, were clouded by anger and resentment. But for now he had to make his final destination in one piece. Why did I think this was a good idea, he thought as his face became one with the branch of a spruce tree. Moisture trickled down his face and a coppery metallic taste filled his mouth . “Perfect!” he groaned, then he spit the blood from his mouth. Wiping his face with the back of his hand he whispered, “Keep moving! Just keep moving!”

He had been walking for what seemed like years. The only break in his trek was a short stint when he hitched a rail from St. Louis to Denver. Not sure if coming here was a good idea be questioned his rationale. Everything bad in his life began here. But desperate times call for desperate measures. At least he could hide until things blew over. The others had either been arrested or shot during their lame attempt at freedom. He had outsmarted them all. He hid in plain sight. It was true what his mama had said to him when he was little. A baby face would take him far...and get him out of a lot of scrapes. By the time the cops had discovered who had pulled the trigger he was gone. He made his way through land owned by an Amish family who even took him in for a while in trade for a much-needed pair of hands during harvest.