Clowns. Dudley Keene dismounted from his sorrel and cursed. He unsheathed his Winchester rifle from its saddle scabbard and pumped the lever. I hate clowns.
His dirt-stained boots plodded through tall grass until he reached an island of wreckage in the sea of prairie. An abandoned carriage stood idle beside a caravan of upturned covered
Cat herding ain’t easy. Sure you’re up for it, son?”
I gave Gus my most resolute stare. The old cat hand nodded, and just like that I was his new partner.
This was my first run as a cat herder, and I was eager to prove myself. I’d had other work before, but
At first glance, the Wild Pony wasn’t anything special.
It looked like every other saloon I had visited. The same batwing doors adorned the entrance, creaking every time they swung open. Wooden tables were scattered around the room. The usual riff-raff crowd occupied the stools, smoking and betting money on their cards.
Recent Comments