Doris Woodard Wallace
United States Marshal Preston Flynn, the mysterious young man who became a deputy marshal at age sixteen, displays his power of concentration and awesome physical strength that exceeds the bounds of human ability, defying the impossible.
He agrees to help the small ranchers fight for survival against the cutthroat cattle buyers, being instrumental in forming a union that guarantees its members fair prices for their beef.
The union president is shot and killed. The evidence of Flynn’s investigation leads to Ben Sharp, a drifter. However, Judge Vanrail, jealous of Flynn’s youth, ability, and reputation, claims his evidence is circumstantial, and orders Flynn to turn Sharp loose. The crimes against the union members continue. Flynn confronts Vanrail in anger, and
Vanrail finds him in contempt, fines him, and strips him of his badge. He has no alternative but to move around the judge, if he is to protect the union members, forced to stop Sharp the only way left to him. Flynn ends up behind bars, facing a rope, and helpless when five outlaws decide to take over the town.
For the first time Flynn begins to understand his unique power of concentration, and the mystery of his superhuman strength.
The mystery of his parent’s murder, (Book I) that he witnessed at age six, is finally solved, answering the question that has plagued him most of his life.
Preston feared what might have happened when he heard the shot. He prowled the cell helplessly, waiting, frustration gripping his insides, anger pouring off him in a cold sweat, hoping Bradbury would return. When after a few minutes he had not, he knew he had been shot. There was no other logical explanation. He pondered his situation: Freeman was in Fort Worth, he was behind bars, Bradbury was most likely dead, and the ranchers were no match for gunslingers. He sensed the danger, fear like a coiled serpent in his guts, but it was not an emotion he felt for himself. The situation called for rational thinking, while he was being torn apart by a current of white hot rage. He quickly realized that it was an emotional distraction he could not afford. He had to concentrate, think only of retaliatory measures. He stood perfectly still, willing himself calm. His mind had to be cool and collected. If he were to survive he had to have his gun that lay in a locked drawer beyond his reach, secured on the other side of the bars that held him captive.
His mind suddenly flared with visions of his father's giant frame, bulging muscles, and unfathomable strength. Fragments from his own past stirred him, recalling the night he had overcome and killed four men with his bare hands in the alley beside the hotel. He had been put to the test, discovering strength he had not known he possessed, power driven by some mysterious element from the depths of his being, expanding energy that had exploded into superhuman strength, reacting to his animal instincts for survival like a sixth sense.
He knew that someone would come for him soon, that he was working against time with perhaps an impossible chore facing him. He was being put to the ultimate test this time; he knew he must not fail. He closed down, as was his intrinsic nature when he faced another gun. This night he was facing an even greater challenge, a threat from which there was only one conclusion. Inside this cell, he was as good as dead. His concentration had to be pure. All else was washed from his thoughts as his mind moved into a trance like state. His eyes probed the iron bars, sensing there structure, searching for the weakest element, evaluating the possibilities of escape. If he expected to move through the bars, he must spread two wide enough to accommodate the bulk of his thick shoulders and arms. There were also cross bar supports to be considered. If it were possible, it would take time and tremendous energy, perhaps more of each than he could generate. The door however, was another matter. He reasoned that the turn of a key was all it took to open it. The movement of a single interlocking bolt. This, he decided, was the means by which he would attempt his escape.
He was facing a titanic endeavor, a task he knew he must conquer or forfeit his life and perhaps the lives of many.
His hands closed around the heavy center bars of the door in a vise-like grip, his powerful legs planted firmly against the floor, spread for balance. His first attempt was nothing more than to test the leverage of his burden with a back and forth movement, measuring the play between the door and iron framework.
Satisfied, he reinforced his hold and took three deep breaths, pumping up his oxygen. At this point he increased his concentration, intensifying within his expanding nucleus his determination for survival. He felt his potency building as he mentally called forth the invisible forces that lay in reserve deep within his core. As he strained against the solid iron resistance his body answered his silent command, his muscles bunching and swelling, the heat of his energy flowing into the surrounding atmosphere, sweat streaming down his body in hot rivulets. The cords in his neck stood out like ropes, his biceps bulging. He was pulling air into his lungs in short, gasping breaths. Realizing that he would too quickly deplete his laboring muscles of needed oxygen, he amended his breathing to long slow intakes.
He groaned with his effort, his facial muscles tightening, the expression in his eyes reflecting his perseverance like dancing blue flames. He realized that the enormous amount of energy he was burning would eventually exhaust him, but there was no time to rest or recover. He was fighting time. He closed his eyes, his mouth set in a hard line of determination, teeth clenched, muscles on fire, screaming with pain as they were forced to perform a superhuman undertaking exacted by his mental demands. And he was suddenly filled with unquenchable power. His adrenalin was pumping vigorously, pushing his system to infinite lengths. He felt the beginning of movement, the space increasing between the door and the frame. His mind closed down even tighter, anesthetizing him against the screaming agony that flamed through his laboring muscles. His incomprehensible concentration strained to awaken the last sleeping spark of the mysterious energy that lay hidden deep within his subconscious, unearthly power that did not come of its own, but was brought forth by the strength of his awesome mental control.
His mind remained blank of all else, save the lock that held him prisoner. He no longer felt the shrieking pain lancing his overworked body. He maintained the pressure while blood pounded through his head like the beat of a drum and his ears roared. He sensed the loosening inside the lock as his unwavering endurance continued the battle to conquer it.
