HOW FAR THE MOUNTAIN
Other Sunstone Press novels by Robert K. Swisher Jr.
The Land
Fatal Destiny
Only Magic
Love Lies Bleeding
The Last Narrow Gauge Train Robbery
The Last Day In Paradise
Touch Me If You Love Me—Poetry
Also by Robert K. Swisher Jr.
The Man From The Mountain
American Love Story
The Weaver
The Captain
Ned
HOW FAR THE MOUNTAIN
A Novel
Robert K. Swisher Jr.
Cover photograph by Leigh Smith Book and Cover design by Vicki Ahl
© 2007 by Robert K. Swisher. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Sunstone books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use.
For information please write: Special Markets Department, Sunstone Press,
P.O. Box 2321, Santa Fe, New Mexico 87504-2321.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Swisher, Robert K., 1947-
How far the mountain : a novel / by Robert K. Swisher Jr.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-86534-522-5 (pbk. : alk. paper)
I. Title.
PS3569.W574H69 2007
813’.54--dc22
2007001791
SUNSTONE PRESS / POST OFFICE BOX 2321 / SANTA FE, NM 87504-2321 /USA
(505) 988-4418 / ORDERS ONLY (800) 243-5644 / FAX (505) 988-1025
For Deidra and Daphne Always in my heart
Contents
The Mountain Before Time Remembers
The Mountain Where The Demons Rest
The Man The Beginning Of The Quest
The Woman The Beginning Of The Search
The Mountain Once There Was A Great Bear
The Mountain The Outlaw Iron Joe
The Mountain Once There Was A Hermit
The Mountain Only The Blind Can See
The Mountain Dare Not To Climb
The Woman The Touch Of The Bones
The Man Turning Toward Destiny
The Man And Woman The Question
The Mountain The Ravens Fly Away
The Man A Return To Memory
Gazing out the kitchen window, the scorching cinder in the center of Bill’s heart pulsed back to life. He had defeated the flame, but he could not rid himself of the smoldering embers that over the last year had charred away almost all of his feelings. “I have to touch the bones,” he muttered, the flame stirring. “I must, if only for myself.”
Bill could see his reflection in the dirty glass—forty six years old, a cracked and lined tough face, with a strong square jaw and a black handle bar moustache so big people could not tell if he was smiling or frowning. His gray eyes, once sparkling,