When the war ends, not every battle is finished. In The
Devil’s Shadow series by Burt Tyson, Captain Robert Hester’s story follows what
comes after, tracing a man’s path through loss, survival, and the difficult
decisions that shape who he becomes when everything familiar is gone.
Synopsis: The final days of war leave Captain Robert
Hester wounded, hunted, and without a future tied to the world he once knew.
With the Confederacy collapsing and his name marked for death, he is forced to
move forward in a landscape where survival is no longer defined by orders, but
by personal choice.
The turning point comes in The Shadow Appears, where Hester
returns home expecting what little remains of his life, only to face a
devastating loss that changes everything in a single moment. Driven by
vengeance, he rides with his loyal sergeant through a fractured landscape,
pursuing those responsible while confronting the cost of what he is becoming.
With that purpose gone, The Shadow Grows follows Hester as
he drifts into unfamiliar territory, surviving one day at a time while carrying
the weight of everything he has lost. A chance encounter introduces a different
way of living, one grounded in endurance and discipline. When violence reaches
others, he must decide whether to walk away or stand and fight, knowing the
decision will shape who he becomes.
Amazon: https://bit.ly/4vTQamj
Find the Series on Goodreads:
THE SHADOW APPEARS: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/242866374-the-shadow-appears
THE SHADOW GROWS: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/249546840-the-shadow-grows
Author bio: Burt Tyson writes historical
Western fiction rooted in the aftermath of the Civil War, where questions of
honor, loss, and survival take center stage. Influenced by classic storytellers
like Louis L’Amour, Larry McMurtry, and the Western television heroes he grew
up watching, his work explores what happens when the fight is over and a man is
left to decide who he is without it.
His Devil’s Shadow series follows Captain Robert Hester
through a fractured post-war America and into the unforgiving frontier beyond.
Tyson lives in a small town in South Carolina, where the
landscape is quiet—but the stories he tells are anything but. Visit Burt at his
website.
Excerpt from The Shadow Appears
Chapter 1
The buzzing woke me. I opened my eyes. It was morning. I saw
the blowfly on the sheet that covered my chest, staring at me through his two
large eyes, his wings vibrating in the still air.
I didn’t even bother to shoo him away. It was a waste of
time. There were too many of them. There shouldn’t have been. It was the last
week of March in Richmond in 1865, and there should have been a few in
sun-warmed windows and no more.
But this was the Chimborazo Hospital and blowflies were
everywhere, along with the groans and cries of wounded men— many dying—and the
ever-present stench of disease, gangrene, human waste, and blood.
We were a sad lot. Too little medicine. Too little food. Too
little hope. Too much pain. Too much fear. And for many, too few limbs.
But it was far better than the field hospital where I had
lain for a day after being shot. Or the jolting, painful wagon ride to
Richmond.
I had been here since the middle of December. First, it was
the wound and the blood loss. Then, the fever had come. And, now, it was just
the weakness. I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed—a pretty pitiful
sight for a cavalry officer.
I heard the click of cavalry boots on the wooden floor
before I saw the figure. Captain Jonathan Washburn stood at the end of my bed.
His left sleeve was folded up and pinned at the shoulder. I could never get
used to seeing him without his arm.
“Well, Captain, I suppose you’ve malingered long enough. You
have new orders. Get yourself dressed. We’re taking you out of all this.”
“I’m being released from this hell-hole? You mean
that?”
“I do, indeed. Turley, front and center, man. Get yourself
out here and help the captain.”
Sergeant Josiah Turley materialized as if out of thin air. A
lean, wiry mountain boy, Turley was raw-boned, with a shock of red hair and a
disposition to match.
It was Turley, more than anyone else, who had saved
me.
The Shadow GrowsChapter 1
I rode out of Parral with no sense of purpose, no mission. I was lost. I still had the dreams. Every night.
They began as they always did, with the bloody tears streaming from my mama’s portrait, the wraithlike figures of Aunt Callie, my daddy, my sister, and my fiancée swirling about me, asking why I hadn’t saved them. And then, after the fire and the blood of my home place, the faces of Ruth and Laurie and the bodies of Abby and Jacob. And then all of the loved ones in the dream swirled around me like tormented spirits. Their voices joined together in a single chorus. Though their mouths never moved, I heard their words.
You’ve failed us. Where is our vengeance? Where is our peace? What are we to do?
Their haunting bodies pressed around me, choking me with their presence.
And each night I would come awake, unable to breathe, my heart racing. It always felt like I would never regain my breath or still my heart. The oppression of sadness and pain and guilt never seemed to go away.
As I rode westward, riding the big gray stallion, Quicksilver Ghost, and leading three other horses, Lady Red, the bay I had given my sister, and two black geldings, I still carried the hope of revenge on George Stoneman for what his bummers had done to the ones I loved back in Virginia and North Carolina. But with the failure of Jo Shelby’s plans to regroup and reenter Texas to continue the fight against the Yankees, I had little left but despair. I rode the lonely wastes of Chihuahua State in Mexico, heading for the Copper Canyon. I had nothing else to do that mattered.
I decided I would enter the Barrancas del Cobre, the Copper Canyon, from the west and ride back toward Texas. I rode through the towns of La Noria, El Tule, San Pablo Balleza, La Loma, Yoquivo, Batopilas, La Bufa, and Cusarare. At each of the towns, I found a place for my horses and cared for them. I ate in whatever cantina the town had to offer and drank mescal.
At Cusarare, I rode east toward the canyon, descending into the most desolate country I had ever seen. And the most beautiful. From the high mountain ridges to the bottom of the canyon, I went from alpine peaks of pines and Douglas fir at almost eight thousand feet to huge figs and palm trees at the bottom of the canyon at just eighteen hundred feet above sea level.
For the next two weeks, I rode through the Copper Canyon. I marveled at the copper and green color of the canyon walls and the beauty and stillness of it. There was plentiful game, and I ate well while riding through this marvel of nature. I saw no one and no sign of anyone.
The peace and solitude felt good. I thought a lot. About my life for the past few years. And about what the Padre had said to me. But I still had the dreams.
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