Posted in Western stories

Handyman Voyeur : Western story

“I hope this will suffice, Mr. Appleton,” Raybeth Carson said, as she stood by the door and pointed inside. “I would appreciate it if you would hang up your gun,” she pointed at a peg on the wall, “we haven’t need one around here in 30 years.

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Squawman : Western story

Lee ducked his head, peeking under a low-hanging branch at the Apache squaw bathing in the river. Normally he left the Apaches strictly alone, they were the fiercest warriors and best trackers on Earth. But this girl had caught his attention and he just couldn’t let it lie. She was beautiful by any standard. He had heard the disdain in the voice of his fellow men, directed at any white man who took a squaw. Squawman, indian lover, they would say. He didn’t care. She was special, light-skinned, shapely and proud. As she finished her bath, she redressed and began fishing. Why she was alone, he couldn’t begin to guess. Maybe she was lost, or possibly she had escaped from another tribe. Maybe she was a holy woman, out on a nameless adventure. In any event she was at least a two-week ride from the nearest Apache encampment.

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Jenny White Feather : Western story

Circa: 6 December 1866 one year after the end of the Civil War.

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One Step From Hell, Addel : Western story

Ransom Miller paddled his fur-ladened canoe around a bend in the Missouri. The river was too wide and too slow to worry about rapids, and sand bars were no problem for the canoe. In fact they made great camping spots. But the underwater logs, whirlpools, and log jams were always a problem. Ransom new better than to be lax. Even though he was nearing Saint Louis, there were still Indians and cutthroats prowling the banks of the waterways. Ransom had nearly lost his life on three different occasions in the past six months. He would not grow…

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The Pervert Of Tombstone : Western story

“He’s asleep,” Brian said as he tiptoed away from the office door. The door had a frosted glass window proudly proclaiming, “President” in large, red letters.

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A Good Deed Never Goes Unpunished : Western story

“Ratabaugh!” an authoritative voice called from behind a dust-covered figure in a leather vest and levis. John Ratabaugh spun around with his hand on his colt. He relaxed when he saw Lieutenant Murphy.

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White Feather : Western story

The War Between The States had just ended when Jenny’s parents decided to leave their failing estate in Georgia. Jenny had just become of marriageable age and was distraught at moving, just as men became interested in her. With the end of the war the sudden influx of marriageable young men thrilled her. She became the center of attention in no time, and had even been the reason for several fights for her attention. Jenny thrilled at all the excitement, her father didn’t.

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Seminole : Western story

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Dina asked for the tenth time. The old man‘s directions seemed easy, follow the salt water lake until it ended in a forked river, turn south and follow the big fork for two days then turn east for one more day. The problem was, the guide’s idea of a day of travel might not agree with the directions given by the wrinkled old native in town. And the distance Dina and her guide could travel in one day, might not be the same as that traveled by the old man.

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The Overland Stage : Western story

“Bugles! That damned bugle,” Robin cursed quietly. “Why is he always blowing that damned bugle?” she asked to the empty, rocking stage. It was dark outside. The dusty interior was filled with baggage and Robin Petosa. Robin was trying to make her way from Cincinnati to Los Angeles to live with her uncle. The trip to St. Joseph had taken 9 days, the trip from St. Joseph to there had taken 4 days so far and she was still in the middle of the desert. She could take the bouncing, the dust, and the bad food, but why the bugle?

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Damsel In Distress : Western story

Mat Archer guided his appaloosa carefully down the trail until he entered a small natural clearing. He stopped and surveyed the ranch below. It was a typical, if well-kept ranch with a barn, two outbuildings, a white house and a corral. From where he sat he could see the setting sun reflecting off the ranch house windows. Everything was painted and well-maintained, the way all ranches should be, but seldom where. There was a decisive woman’s hand at work down below, he decided. His horse pranced, eager to get down to the ranch, and the comforts therein. Mat was not so eager. Something didn’t look right about the quiet scene below. Nobody moved, no smoke for a cooking fire, and no movement to feed or milk.

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