Arrival in Dusty Creek
Summer, 1873. Dusty Creek, Texas. A tall figure in black walked into the saloon. Broad-shouldered, skin dark as midnight, eyes cold enough to freeze a man’s soul. In less than a minute, he drew his revolver. One shot rang out. Thomas Burch, an overseer of cruel fame, dropped dead. The crowd froze. By the time anyone reacted, the black-clad stranger had vanished into the scorching sun.
This was Zachariah Creed—once a slave, trained by a legendary Mexican gunslinger, and now a force of revenge. Newspapers called him a monster; wanted posters called him dangerous; those who remembered slavery called him vengeance. To understand why, we must begin not at his birth, but at the death that ignited his fury—his mother’s.
Life on the Witmore Plantation
Witmore Estate, 40 miles west of Houston. Colonel Henry Witmore, a man who called himself “Colonel” but had never served, owned 3,000 acres and 112 slaves. Publicly, he was a symbol of Southern prosperity. Privately, he was a monster. Whippings, family separations, scars, graves unmarked—this was the foundation of his wealth.
Zachariah was born here in 1847. His mother, Abigail, served in the main house, but she was known among the slaves for two things: her kindness and her voice. Hymns, spirituals, songs of freedom—her singing reminded the children of a world beyond the plantation.
She named him Zachariah in secret, whispering, “God remembers every tear, every wrong. Remember that, baby.” His father was sold away when Zachariah was three, leaving him with only stories.
By age five, Zachariah was working small tasks—fetching water, gathering eggs, running messages. Tears brought whippings; running brought worse. The first lesson in survival was clear: hide your pain, mask your fear.
Death, Loss, and Hatred
At seven, the unthinkable happened. Abigail dropped a jug of milk in the Whitmore house. The punishment was brutal. Overseer Thomas Burch tied her to a post and whipped her 37 times. Zachariah watched helplessly as his mother’s life ebbed away. By nightfall, she was dead.
A year later, his younger sister, Grace, was sold. Zachariah tried to stop it, but an overseer struck him down. Grace screamed, reaching for him, and was gone.
Then came Samuel, his only friend and companion. But one cold December night in 1860, Samuel stole a piece of bread. The punishment: hanging in front of the plantation. Zachariah watched helplessly. Three days later, he secretly dug a grave for Samuel and swore vengeance—not just against the overseers, but against every person who had ever caused him pain.
Escape and Survival in the Wilderness
At 13, Zachariah ran. No plan, no supplies, only the wilderness to guide him. He survived by trial and error—finding water, hunting small game, evading predators, and surviving encounters with outlaws and Comanche patrols.
By 15, he had killed two men trying to capture him, learning that the world was ruthless. By 16, he was stronger, sharper, and more dangerous than any adult.
Meeting the Master Gunfighter
In 1863, half-dead from fever, he found Waqin Esperansza, a legendary Mexican gunslinger. Waqin saw in Zachariah the same eyes he had once had—the eyes of a killer in the making.
“You want revenge?” Waqin asked. Zachariah nodded. For four years, Waqin trained him. First, the body—fighting, knives, hand-to-hand combat. Second, firearms—rifle and revolver mastery, lightning-fast draws, accuracy under stress. Third, the mind—strategy, patience, meditation. Fourth, integration—planning ambushes, improvisation, infiltration.
By the end, Zachariah was no longer a boy; he was a weapon. Waqin handed him his Colt 1851 Navy revolvers, relics of a lifetime of battle.
The Campaign of Vengeance
After the Civil War, Zachariah returned to Texas. His first target: Thomas Burch. Observing, waiting, learning the man’s routines. Finally, he confronted him in a saloon. One shot, precise, cold. Burch was dead, the first in a list that would grow over the next 18 months.
William Crawford, the slave trader who bought Grace, fell next. Despite extensive searching, Grace was lost—her fate unknown—but the warning was clear: God remembers.
Zachariah continued, executing former overseers, corrupt sheriffs, and cruel masters. Each death was marked by a single bullet and a reminder: the crimes of slavery would not be forgotten.
The Campaign of Vengeance
In 1875, only Colonel Henry Witmore remained. His empire destroyed by war and time, he fortified his mansion, armed with twenty gunmen. Zachariah approached in darkness, systematically eliminating the guards, creating chaos, fear, and smoke.
Finally, only Witmore remained. Zachariah confronted him, gun in hand, memory and rage burning. Yet, instead of killing, he made the colonel live—forced to witness his ruin, stripped of all power, haunted by what he had done.
Zachariah Creed vanished into legend. The killings stopped, bounty hunters failed, and Texas whispered of a black ghost who delivered justice when the law would not.
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