Adonias Low

by D.A. Watson

A shipment massacre and his daughter's abduction force farmer Adonias Lowe toward the violent past he has tried to bury.

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THE STORY

About the book

Locales

United States

Murder. Robbery. Kidnapping. Welcome to Napa Valley, California.

To lawmen and bad men alike, The Low Man is a ghost story. The most feared bounty hunter to ever walk the territories. Whispered to be a Native American shapeshifter, a renegade Pinkerton detective, or the Bible quoting son of a mad preacher. No one knows for sure. He's a spectre outlaws scare each other with around campfires.

Adonias Lowe lives in the highlands of Napa Valley with his children, scratching a hard living as a farmer and occasional wagon guard. When a wealthy gin baron hires him to see a valuable shipment safely to San Francisco, the opportunity comes just in time to keep the family afloat.

But when the job turns into a massacre and his daughter is abducted by a deviant killer, Adonias is forced into a reckoning that will awaken a darkness he's long tried to bury. As the corpses mount up, a dying sheriff tries to make sense of the madness, scalp hunters saddle up and ride for blood, fame and riches, and the local Wailaki are coming down from the hills, singing war songs of the Lost White Brother.

Welcome to Napa Valley, California. Where fruit grows thick on the vine, and blood runs deep.

This book contains graphic sex and violence, and is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

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THE AUDIOBOOK

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Adonias Low

Narrated by: Gordon MacCathay
Audiobook length: 11 hours 23 minutes

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It was still full dark out when Adonias stepped out to the yard early the next morning and made his way over to the stable to wake and ready Angus for their journey to the Hilltop.

After feeding and saddling the surly beast, who seemed to resent being woken at such an ungodly hour, Adonias took hold of Angus's reins and led the old mule out to the yard. In the east, the dark of night was just showing the slightest tinge of wan yellow behind the wall of jagged mountaintops. The burgeoning dawn's warmth hadn't reached them yet though, and Adonias shivered in the cold wind, fastening the buttons on his worn, fleece-lined coat and pulling his hat down a little firmer. He paused a moment, silently mouthing a short prayer of protection as he looked back at the house where his children slept. Then he mounted up, put the ranch to his back, rode out of the yard and away.

The Hilltop was a hard three hours ride down the western road, and it was a trail not to be trifled with. Adonias had made the journey countless times, but kept his eyes and ears open all the way, and as he went, passed more than one rickety wooden cross planted in the dirt by the trailside, marking the passage of some unfortunate traveller.

D.A. Watson