Wanted! Brides for lonely men in Texas. He had sent money for expenses along with a train ticket. I had never had this much money to spend on myself. If this is what it's like to be a Texas bride, then I like it.
Justifiable homicide. That's what they called it. Therefore, I only had to serve 20 years instead of the mandatory life sentence, for murder. The judge said I could have been hanged. I got out in 17 years for good behavior. Now here I am on my way home, wondering if I still have a home, still have a wife. Do I still have a son? Did she wait, like she said she would in the few letters that I received? I wouldn't blame her if she didn't. Seventeen years is a long time to wait for a passionate woman like her.
"Good story,,, needs one or two more chapters."
Them Dakota Territories is an outlaw's paradise, untamed and uncivilized, that's what I heard. It's a bad place fer a person to be going to, if you ask me. They say that this Judge Renfro is what you call a hanging judge. They say he hung a feller one time just to see how long his legs would kick until he died.
Our job, as described by the judge, was to look into the backgrounds of certain individuals and determine whether they had the potential of becoming law breakers. There was very little, if any, violence involved in this endeavor - That is until the last few jobs. It seemed as if we were becoming more like bounty hunters than investigators.
He pointed to a poster on the wall. "Maybe, you'd better read that poster," he said. The poster read: YOU WILL BE TRAVELING THROUGH INDIAN COUNTRY AND THE SAFETY OF YOUR PERSON CANNOT BE VOUCHSAFED BY ANYONE BUT GOD. "Interesting." I said.
Jedidiah Isaiah Jenkins, an 18-20-year-old redheaded, left-handed fast draw, travels the states and territories of the old west of the late 1800s with his two friends, rooting out and destroying evil whenever and wherever he finds it. Jed is easy going until pushed too far, then it is kill or be killed. Jed is a true Christian at heart, and believes he has been ordained to carry out God's will. But does Jed have what it takes to rid these places of the evil that is wreaking havoc?
The town was named Itching Tree because when the first settlers arrived, one of the trees was covered with poison oak and poison ivy. Anyone who got near it would itch for days, even weeks. Only one out of several trees was contaminated. The people tried everything to rid the tree of the poison, but nothing seemed to work. Then one day, almost six months later, magically the tree was clear of all signs of the poison. No one knows what happened. It seemed like a miracle had happened overnight.
We all went over to the sound, and there in the bushes was a young Indian brave. He was in pretty bad shape. The other Indians must have thought he had run off when the fighting started, or maybe they didn't care because he was so young, so they didn't bother looking for him. He was probably 10 or 11 years old, too young to be going on a raid like this.
After two days of traveling, I pulled up on Sugar's reins, stared at the trail ahead, turned in the saddle and looked at the dusty trail behind. It looked like silver water running off a duck's back, and the land in front of us seemed to sizzle, like a burning flame. Some of the terrain looked vaguely familiar, but then looking a second time, it didn't look like anything I had seen before. As I took another look, the subtle rise and fall of the land all looked the same.
While visiting with my aunt and uncle, in Itching Tree, Idaho, I received a telegram. It was from Mayor Madison of Windy Butte, New Mexico. I had taken care of a problem they had when we passed through there on our way to Velvet Sky, Arizona. It seemed they had a similar situation now. The new sheriff they hired was causing all kinds of grief and trouble.
I'm hated by ignorant people who don't realize that this is a job just like chopping wood or baking bread. Someone has to do it. I decided if I'm the one to do it, I'm going to be the best.
"You got something in there fit for riding?" She nodded again. "Put it on, you're going with me." She turned and went behind the stagecoach.
"You ready to tell me what we're carrying?" "Why is it so important for you to know?" "Well first place, if it was nitroglycerin, then I would take another route. If it was whiskey I'd stop for a drink any time. Why is it you don't want to tell me?" "Alright, if you must know, it's dynamite." "Dynamite! Why in blazes didn't you tell me that when we started?" "If you had known would you have agreed to carry it?" "Probably not."
"Reminiscent of old time Western serials"
When 16-year-old Benjamin Bradley kills his step-daddy, he is transformed into a ruthless killer, seemingly without a conscience. The sheriff forces him to leave town or stand trial for murder. He then shoots the sheriff in the back and kills him. Killing seems to come so easy for him that he kills the livery stable owner, steals a horse, and rides out of town. He's not only a bad guy. He's the worst of the worse. He's a cold-blooded killer. He kills indiscriminately. No one is safe when he goes on a killing rampage.
Today he was going to collect 500 dollars with this one shot. Vincent McConnell is a bounty hunter with a reputation for always bringing in his man, dead or alive. He learned a long time ago that dead was a lot easier.
There's always tomorrow. Yes, there's always tomorrow. And yesterday. And the nights with the same dreams. Dead men's faces taunting me. Always taunting me. An old gunfighter told me one time, "The only way to stop the dreams is to let your opponent win. It's a guaranteed cure. No more dreams." "Sounds too final for me," I told him. "I'll just keep having the dreams."
"Great short story"
This is a short story of a man hired to guard, as he puts it, a worthless stinky smelly mud hole.
I was born with a deformity that the doctors had no name for. You see, I was born ugly. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me..." Whoever said that never had hurtful words hurled at them like brimstone from Heaven.
"You can't shoot me, you're a preacher." "I haven't always been a preacher. You and I have unfinished business from before I became a preacher." The Preacher spoke softly, "I'm not gonna kill you. In fact, I'm gonna forgive you for what you did to my wife and me. However, I do require that you walk over to the sheriff's office and turn yourself in." "I ain't going no place with you." said the man. The Preacher stood, waiting calmly with his hand hovering over his pistol.
Brian Cavanaugh (alias the Kid Cavanaugh) has just reached the half century mark in his life. People have always said if a professional gunfighter lives past 50, he is either very good or very lucky. At this age, he has decided to hang up his gun and retire, so he travels across the country to return to his childhood home of Rickety Springs, Texas.