Waltzing with Tumbleweeds
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Dusty Richards, sweeps his readers back to early days on the untamed frontier time and time again in this varied collection of twenty original short stories. His experience as author of over 60 published Western novels is evident in the way he has created such engaging and unique plots. Dusty Richards knows how to weave a tale that keeps readers turning pages and coming back for more.
the wind. In his absence the fire had gone down. His breath produced streams of vapor as he poked the few remaining coals in the stove. With a small scoop, he added coal from the packing crate bin. Then he pulled off his heavy mittens, and slipped off the plaid wool cap. It would soon be warm inside. He undid the deer antler buttons of his coat. Darkness began to engulf the room before he lighted the kerosene lamp He busied himself with meal preparation. First, he sliced bacon from the slab.
stay up past midnight to find out what is supposed to be on this paper. Maybe like Michelangelo said about the stone. “I carve out what God left me inside the rock.” So goes my writing. I print out what he left me on the paper. Who knows what good and evil lurks in our subconscious, some larceny, some love, some violence, some kindness, some arson, some passion—the list is endless. Yet a story comes, no doubt from my volumes of research that are set chronologically in the days of the west.
men’s offer. Her mother, Laughing-Woman had grown concerned. Younger girls were already married. Laughing Woman had pointed this out not understanding her daughter’s hesitancy. Red Star recalled the words she had spoken at her mother’s insistence that she find a man. They had mysteriously spilled from her lips in anger. “My man will come for me on the back of an eagle.” This speech was never formed by his conscious thinking. She felt taken aback and inwardly she was shocked at the implication
wondered if she had any children. Strange no dog barked, most folks kept several around their headquarters because they helped keep the Indians away. He rounded a large juniper and found the corral gates open and empty. Disappointed and struck with the truth, he observed the abandoned adobe house without a front door. Then he saw the three crosses on the mounds—graves. They weren’t fresh either maybe a month or so old. How long had the Apaches held her? God only knew. “They’re dead aren’t
to own one.” Unable to contain herself, she took him in a surprise hug and kissed him several times on the cheek. Wet kisses, for she had let the tears run down unheeded since he had arrived with the boy. “You ever need something, anything, money—for your whiskey, whatever, you come see me?” His face afire with embarrassment, he could only mumble thanks and close his fist on the money she gave him. He stepped back. Then he remembered Gladys. She’d like all the whiskey he could afford to buy