Outlaws

[El Zilcho]

"We'll take him from here. Appreciate it boys, you did a great job nailing this f*cker. I'm gonna personally string him up."

 

Rick Clarton was roughly thrown over to the 4 US Marshals, who lifted the outlaw onto the back of the free horse; his shackles loudly jingling. Their metallic jangle sang his swan song of fast disappearing freedom. His appearance was dishevelled and rough - very much that of an outlaw on the run for a very long year, his rough beard and hair as one. Rick's capture had been eventful but the rest of the most amoral, disgusting and ingenious gang of Wwild West bastards had slipped away; a fact the lawmen in pursuit of them were most furious about. They had spent the year tracking the gang over water, desert and forest. And they had only caught one of it's most junior members, even then they only managed it because he was in an outhouse. Their frustration meant they were more than happy to hand him over to the flashy looking city boy US Marshals; in exchange for a commendation in the papers of course.

 

Tossing the keys through the air and handing the hairy kid's revolver to the top Marshall, the lawmen turned slowly and left the scene, talking amongst themselves on whether they'd ever see, let alone put a noose around the neck of "Vicious Bob" Dalton. His legend was fast spreading (some said he'd tore a man's Adam's Apple off with his bare teeth; yet others claimed he'd killed 60 men at Los Perdidos when he was handcuffed). As of yet, he remained as elusive as the cheap whore and the free meal.

 

The sun ebbed low and spread huge, deathly shadows across the white sands. The local lawmen's disappointments soon melted away into the immediate issues in life; where they were going to sleep that night. Little did they know they'd come within inches of getting the very man the whole West was after on that very afternoon - and that the genius had ran big, smoky circles around them once more.

 

The 4 Marshalls and Clarton departed.

 

"How you doing Rick, they treat you like the dog you are? Trust you didn't piss yourself too much huh?" Bob Dalton spoke first.

 

"Shut up Bob. You always was the 'funny' type. Ain't so funny when they beatin' you around the head with a bottle now is it? I got more wounds than a pin cushion! You should try it once you f*ckin' laughin' prick." A few laughs went around the 'Marshalls' as they trotted toward the remote camp in the desert dunes.

 

"Bob you're one smart son of a bitch. I knew those boys from Caldville were stupid but this is a whole new level of backward." Jack Ingram chuckled heartily through his self musings, as the posse passed a large rock by a meander in the river. The boulder's monstrous shadow and nearby shrubs obscured 5 dead US Marshalls, half naked with their throats slit wide open. Dust already burying the stiffs - sand stained crimson, running into the dried up river bed. Ingram spat on the motionless corpses as they trotted past.

 

"Wait until Sheriff Reynolds hears about this f*ck up. We're gonna get something special. Think it'll be $55,000? Maybe they'd be nice and add another zero and make it $350,000!"

 

Jack grinned his broken teeth as the final life slipped from the red sun, sinking like a ship into the hills of orange.

[Vercetti21]

Pretty good intro. Some sentences flowed well and others were a little wordy, but there is no "dealbreaker" that hinders the overall quality of the piece. You have a pretty good eye for detail, so keep up the good imagery. I especially loved that last line.

[Mokrie Dela]

is a western?

 

I'm liking what i see so far. I do feel as if i've wandered into a conversation halfway through, and that's working in your favour - i wanna know more

[Sanjeem]

Nice western, which i presume it is one. I quite enjoyed that but not as much as some others, simply because i am not a huge western fan. I did like that intro though. Well done.

[Omnia sunt Communia]

The imagery in this is beautiful. I especially love the line: "As of yet, he remained as elusive as the cheap whore and the free meal." You've managed to capture the feel of a gritty western quite well in this first chapter alone, which I think is quite essential in hooking your readers.

 

There are a few word repetitions and you mispelt Wild once (Wwild), but other than that it's great stuff.

 

[Mokrie Dela]

The imagery in this is beautiful. I especially love the line: "As of yet, he remained as elusive as the cheap whore and the free meal." You've managed to capture the feel of a gritty western quite well in this first chapter alone, which I think is quite essential in hooking your readers.

 

There are a few word repetitions and you mispelt Wild once (Wwild), but other than that it's great stuff.

You can't be a good simile!

 

As for smalI errors and typos go, half the time the eye doesnt notice. Did you notice the lack of apostrophe there?

How about the little typo in small? Even after writing, editing and reading something twice i still managed to miss things

 

This has a lot of potential , and i'm glad to see it getting replies.

[El Zilcho]

I really appreciate all the feedback guys! Didn't expect so many in these inactive times to reply and for that I'm truly grateful. Next chapter is coming right up, so enjoy.

 

 

A Lawmen in Lawless Times

 

Tumbleweed rolled past the Caldville saloon and Sheriff’s office. The slow chirp of crickets rang out over the prairie as the sun began to sink in late afternoon. The shops were closing and life at the moment was generally quite quiet, especially for a town in the chokehold of a notorious Gang. But their was one source of noise on this sleepy day – and that was the sound of 5 deputies being chewed up and spat back out by their tempestuously angry boss.

 

“I’ll put my summary to you simply boys. You are incompetent. You’re the worst lawmen I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with. No, no hold up a minute - you’re worse than that. You’re a liability to my job here. You can barely police your own dicks, let alone catch the biggest bunch of mother loving low life cockroaches we’ve ever been tasked to find! I implore you backwater hicks to sort yourselves out so you don’t keep tripping up on your own shoelaces, and so that I don’t have to clean up your sh*t again! A whole year I spent on these rat bastard’s tails - and what do you go and do when I’m not babysitting you? You go and lose the key to their demise, literally drop Rick back into their laps!”

 

Sean O’Hara was understandably furious. His job, his commission, had been to catch the Dalton Gang, and after much deliberation and hard work he was one step of the way there. His intelligence and ruthless harrying had captured Clarton. Just as he was planning and thinking as to how he would use his minor victory to full effect, the idiots in charge of keeping Clarton under guard handed him back to the gang. The local law force had fallen for a simple ruse and as soon as O’Hara heard about it he had exploded into an avalanche of painful, stinging words. His current tirade was relatively tame compared to his earlier explosion.

 

The deputies responsible for the monumental f*ck up were all lined up like some prisoners in front of a firing squad, standing shamefully outside Sheriff Newton’s office. Their long shadows cast on the dust like sundials of morbid disappointment and tragic stupidity. Faces all down like comedic schoolboys. They all knew their involvement in this famous case was as good as over – say goodbye to fame and fortune. They stared at Sean, the big shot lawmen. Their respected 'father figure' was now withdrawn and deep in calculated thought, consciously trying to stop his internal outrage from appearing on his features. His face was like granite; clean shaven but flecked with the dust of the land and deep cut with wrinkles, as deep as cracks in stone.

 

“Get out of my sight.” He mumbled, defeated my his own colleagues idiocy. He turned his back on the men, angrily crossing his arms and grinding his teeth.

 

His piercing, sharp green eyes stared out over the plains in deep frustration. As much as he had wished these ‘invalids’ could see eye to eye with him, he understood that the task of catching these men would be way over their feeble heads. He exhaled a deep sigh of regret, finally reaching the conclusion that he’d have to go East and rally together a posse, at great personal expense and inconvenience. He tallied up a mental checklist within seconds, his ‘shopping list’ of lawmen and bounty hunters. Men so brilliant and inspired in their line of work that their very names would strike great fear in the hearts of any renegade and low life.

 

English Jim, he’d definitely need to be called on. Onacona would probably be useful too – O’Hara had never met someone who could track like the great ‘White Owl’. Then of course, there would be Hank Simmons of Missouri, Josh Tyson of the Rockies. And if you needed someone catching, you couldn’t go wrong with Pinkerton Detective Charlie “Tall Wall” Warren.

 

“Yes,” O’Hara mused, his brain firing a million shots a minute “we can’t possibly miss with them. If Dalton wants war, I’ll give him war. But it won’t be his way. He sure as sh*t won’t like it.”

 

[Mokrie Dela]

looking good!

 

A couple of VERY minor slips - the lack of capitalization on the town Chokehold, and immediatley after it should be "There" not "their". But hell, i've read PUBLISHED books with the same kind of errors in. One in fact even made a word up!

 

Im no grammer nazi, so i wont pick it apart, but even with those two small things, it's still pretty good. The imagery at the beginning worked very well; i had no trouble painting the scene in my mind's eye.

 

Your use of language is good too. Words like "implore" aren't used that much these days, so that's helping.

 

All in all, keep it up

 

 

 

Didn't expect so many in these inactive times to reply and for that I'm truly gratefu

Hey, this little writing forum is small, and hidden. Not that many people come down here and of those that do, few actually post. So we've gotta all "stick together" as it were.

 

 

<-- For you sir.

[El Zilcho]

the lack of capitalization on the town Chokehold

Chokehold isn't a town, it's just a figure of speech Thank you very much once again for the feedback and your analysis (got to pay attention to the detail). I'll stick with O'Hara for a chapter or two before returning to the Dalton rampage.

[Ziggy455]

The only thing I can see wrong with this mate is the typos. Besides that It's definetly got potential and you can really tell these characters are from western times. It does need work but hey, what doesn't on here?

 

I love the old switcheroo, made me chuckle. I look forward to more of it.

[Vercetti21]

The shops were closing and life at the moment was generally quite quiet

Watch out for using similar sounding words in repetition like that. Sometimes alliterations work well, but they need to roll off the tongue. "Quite quiet" took me a couple read-overs to process properly, and it's things like that that break the flow as well as the reader's concentration. Other than that I like that the story has a clear direction to go in now, and I look forward to meeting the new characters.

[El Zilcho]

 

Introducing English Jim - An Awkward Tw*t

 

First on the lawmen’s list was his old friend English Jim –a notorious local character choc full of hidden talents and terrible farming skills in equal measure. O’Hara found him raking some dirt patches near his cow’s enclosure, outside the farmhouse he owned in Reverence Point.

 

“Hey, Jim! How you doing?” Sean shouted.

 

“Sean O’Hara, fancy seeing you here! Oh please old boy, do call me English. Jim is so bloody formal! I was under the impression we had graduated beyond the complexities of fancy words and falsified respect.” English Jim joked sardonically. He truly was an absurd caricature, an over the top imperial snob who stuck out like a British sore thumb. For any uneducated outsider this smartly dressed, waistcoat sporting gentlemen was nothing more than a man to be laughed at and mocked for his silly foreign ways; out of place in a world of ranchers and cattle rustlers. If you were to believe that – you were sorely mistaken. Jim could strike back against any cocky American twice his size with sharp words and an even more venomous dead eye shot. For English Jim was possibly the most accomplished sniper in the whole West.

 

“You still running this crappy ranch? I thought better of you, could you imagine how this would look. A famous gunslinger grovelling around in dirt like a beggar. Actually, that sounds a lot like you.” Sean chuckled while manoeuvring over a deep ditch.

 

“I’ll have you no, you Yank bastard, this particular patch of land is the finest piece you’ll find in this God forsaken, rebellious land of oafs.” Jim grinned back, adjusting his bowler hat to shower shade over his eyes. The noon sky was unforgiving.

 

“You know, you keep talking like that and you’ll end up with a broken nose-“Sean replied jokingly. “Listen, Jim-“

 

“Call me English you prehistoric arse.”

 

“Well then, listen up you English ‘arse’ whose butts we whupped in the war. I’ve come to ask you a favour. You know; for old times sake. Will you ride with us? Well me actually, I’ve still to rustle up a few others. See, I need a posse to capture or kill an outlaw and his gang.”

 

“Say no more young man. I’ll gladly accompany you to catch whatever ruffians you deem dangerous to society. If those are the type of people we are after, perhaps I should start by arresting you old boy. You are, after all Irish – a despicable race of people with no grasp of law and order or even civilisation for that matter.” Jim’s smile was obscured by shadow, and had Sean not known this ludicrous man and his offensive sense of humour for so long he would have taken genuine annoyance to those comments. But between friends – it didn’t matter.

 

“Can you still shoot? Or have you been too busy with your useless farming endeavours?” O’Hara kicked up a little dust, which showered English’s immaculate black trousers like a beige monsoon. English cast a casual glance and smirk at his dusty feet. He nodded slowly, before reaching down to a small wooden box on the ground. O’Hara watched as he unclipped the latch and withdrew a pristine Buffalo rifle from its velvet case.

 

“I was shooting some vermin earlier, guess this lovely thing will come in handy. Now, if you aren’t too worried about me showing you up; would you be so kind as to allow me to demonstrate my art?” English loaded the rifle and held it forward. O’Hara gestured his hand like some lion tamer in a grand circus, and English stepped forward. He brought the rifle up to his eye line and scanned the sky above – not once dropping his air of aristocratic composure. High above, circling near the sun was a vulture. O’Hara observed quietly as English squeezed the trigger – and an instant later the bird came plummeting earthward in a cloud of blood and feathers. It landed with a satisfying thump on the sand by some of English’s cows on the pasture. He turned smugly to his comrade and rested the rifle on his shoulders.

 

“Satisfied?”

 

“Nope. Not until you can hit something faster than a damn bird. Come on Jim-“

 

“It’s English.”

 

“You know I’m gonna keep calling you Jim now don’t you! As I was saying, let’s see if you’re as good as you were back in the day. Try hitting this.” Sean lifted his wide brimmed hat off his head, and threw it high through the air. It frisbeed up and curled toward the ground. English wasted no time. Having already reloaded, he took steady aim and fired a single shot through the hat’s centre. It flew back before falling down into a grove of cacti.

 

Sean couldn’t help letting his jaw drop slightly. He cursed himself silently at allowing English to see his amazement, and stepped back toward his horse. Enough of the fun and games. Squinting against the sun he mounted his steed and called over to Jim.

 

“I didn’t like that hat anyway. Was uh, gonna get a new one.” Sean gruffly stated, still cursing his friend for showing him up in front of all of the cows.

 

“Come on Jim, let’s go. “

 

“Now? I was planning on having some tea. Maybe you might even have shelved your barbarian ways and joined me and the wife.”

 

“Jim come on. You don’t have to be a condescending imbecile all your life. We’ve got criminals to catch you queen loving fruit.” English agreed and left to fetch his old LeMat and his Thoroughbred stallion from the farm house, quickly bidding his wife goodbye and promising hollowly to telegraph her from Caldville. Then at last the two departed.

 

As they trotted on, they spoke at length about the situation and who they would be hiring to work with them. When the question of a tracker was raised, there was only one answer -

 

“I was thinking perhaps hiring that Indian tracker, you know White Owl. He’s famous up North and he’s worked with the posse that tracked down Obadiah Austin. I’ve heard he could track a fish down river from birth to death.”

 

“Outrageous, completely preposterous.”

 

“Maybe, maybe. People would have said the same thing one hundred years ago when the pioneers went West. I’ve no reason to doubt his talents until I at least meet the man, and believe me we’re going to need a load of talent. This Bob Dalton is a real bad apple. He’s ruthless, and what’s more he’s real smart too. Gung ho and brutal, but cold and calculated. The worst kind of outlaw. I ain’t never heard of someone as audacious as him in my entire career – two days ago he killed and impersonated my own Marshalls and fooled local deputies into handing over one of his gang. About a year ago he apparently escaped prison single handed and unarmed.”

 

“Good God. What’s the price on this man’s head?” Jim spoke with deep astonishment - the legend of Bob Dalton was already infecting another.

 

“Something around the $60,000 mark. I’m sure the Governor will raise it much higher as soon as he hears of the killing of the Marshalls. One of them was his son in law.”

 

“Well then, good to know we’ve got powerful friends. As utterly perfect a shot I might be, it sounds as though we’re up against it. Although I could always use my dashing looks to stun these scallywags into submission. American’s are simple, as you no doubt understand being one of them” English Jim arrogantly and sarcastically introduced humour to the discussion – a trait that helped him anger and amuse many.

 

“Ahhh shut up why don’t you Jim. I’m in no mood for your irritating wit right now. I just want to know how you intend to combat the situation we’ve got here. You’re smart; you got a particular plan simmering in there?” Sean leaned over from his horse and tapped lightly on the top of Jim’s bowler hat.

 

“To be brutally honest – no. I would have suggested going in guns blazing but your Neanderthal mind must already have covered that avenue, hm?” Jim spoke as he slipped a chunk of chewing tobacco into his mouth. Sean ignored the comment and looked out over the hills. Orange rock stood statuesque, like the Indian totems beyond. He caught a glimpse of a coyote scampering after an armadillo – the hunter and hunted.

 

“Those are the Indian Nations up ahead. We’d best move quick and try to catch up with White Owl. I don’t fancy being in scalping country at night.” Both men spurred their horses roughly. Time wasn’t on their side and little did they know, “Vicious Bob” Dalton was about to strike again.

[Mokrie Dela]

 

the lack of capitalization on the town Chokehold

Chokehold isn't a town, it's just a figure of speech Thank you very much once again for the feedback and your analysis (got to pay attention to the detail). I'll stick with O'Hara for a chapter or two before returning to the Dalton rampage.

It's the little details that count.

 

"He put on his coat."

 

or "He put on his coat, the wool feeling soft and warm against his skin."

 

and:

 

"He drew his gun."

 

or

 

"He drew his Peacemaker."

 

Which is better?

 

Anyway, i havnt really got time to read the next chapter, but i'll check it out later.

 

One thing i'd recomend is:

 

Either copy and past the story into one post, so people can read it easier, or do what i've done with City of Lies (and some others have done with their concepts) and have a linked table in the first post to each chapter - look at my "city of lies" in my sig for an example.

 

I'd be willing to help with the URLs if you need it too.

 

 

Edit after reading chapter: it's coming along well. I'm seeing the two talking clearly, but I think you may have overplayed the 'english' thing a little. Subtleties go a long way.

 

But that's not a strike against it, just my opinion there. A couple of typos aside (as I said before we all do that and I've seen in in published books), it's still lookinggood!

 

The only thing I'll pick out is 'his immaculate black trousers' I think was the line. IMO, he wouldn't wear fine clothes for yard work, and considering the climate out there, trail dust and dust from the yard itself would pretty much soil the trousers before ohare got to him, if you get me.

 

I'm not sure the 60k bounty is workin for me either tbh. Seems a little high, but I'm guessing that's the point. Bear in mind 60,000 back then is like 6 million now haha

 

Some good imagery though, I liked the bitabout tracking a fish

 

Keep it up

Edited February 20, 2011 by Mokrie Dela

[Oxidizer]

Oh my. I really, really like this. The sheer bloodlust of the thing! And I'm not usually into Westerns - at all. But this... oh my.

 

I also like that you're updating this quite reguarly (or at least writing a lot of it), as it shows you've got a genuine interest in what you're doing - which has got me more enthusiastic about it.

 

Excellent work, my friend.

[El Zilcho]

 

*Mokrie Dela Feedback*

Well I understand the practicality of the trousers point but I just wanted to create some evocative imagery there (whose to say he just wanted to pop out and quickly do some stuff on a whim?) as for English Jim I'm deliberately over playing it (he's a caricature, remember?) so as to demonstrate his strength of unique character and a small avenue for maybe some comic relief. Still, thanks a lot for your feedback.

(Oh yes as for the bounty, this gang has been consistently terrorising the local population, robbing trains, banks and causing mindless destruction for over 2 years now. They've ran rings around the law so much the Governor himself is getting involved. His financial clout means he can finance a very high bounty of $60,000. I've done research and the Hole in the Wall Gang amassed a $30,000 bounty in those days for robbery so this amount isn't too far fetched)

 

Oxi, I glad you're enjoying it! I'm soldiering on so you (and hopefully anyone else following this) won't have to wait up for the next chapter - should be posted within the next few hours so stick around. It's focused on Bob Dalton and I intend to portray his unique opinion on morals and crime as well as his bloodthirsty ruthlessness.

Edited February 20, 2011 by El Zilcho

[General Goose]

As mentioned, the imagery and descriptions you use are pretty great, and the "As of yet, he remained as elusive as the cheap whore and the free meal" was my favourite line too. The few minor typos (Wwild, my instead of by, etc.) don't lessen the quality and readability of the work. I gotta say, English looks like he'll be an enjoyable character. Considering I'm not a fan of the whole stuck-up English stereotype (I feel it's a wee bit overused), you've done a good job writing him, especially the relationship between him and Sean. Look forward to reading more.

[The Unvirginiser]

English Jim, he’d definitely need to be called on. Onacona would probably be useful too – O’Hara had never met someone who could track like the great ‘White Owl’. Then of course, there would be Hank Simmons of Missouri, Josh Tyson of the Rockies. And if you needed someone catching, you couldn’t go wrong with Pinkerton Detective Charlie “Tall Wall” Warren.

 

“Yes,” O’Hara mused, his brain firing a million shots a minute “we can’t possibly miss with them. If Dalton wants war, I’ll give him war. But it won’t be his way. He sure as sh*t won’t like it.”

I'm loving this at the minute mate, you've really come through and developed as a writer. I love the dialouge, the way the words have been carefully thought over so that they fit in perfectly. Get another chapter up as soon as you can

[Ziggy455]

This definetly once of your best pieces Zilch'.

 

Brilliant, English Jim makes me laugh. Reminds me of Soap from Gun - who was the only educated fool in the whole west like it seemed. Keep this up.

[Eminence]

Enjoying it so far, the first two chapters were very atmospheric, bringing us in well. Like many have stated you've got an eye for detail and the images you're creating go a long way to enhancing that.

 

I'm not feeling English though, at all. I can understand wanting some form of comic relief to stand in contrast with the grittiness earlier on, but the lengths you've gone to do that make him feel totally out of place. It's just not believable and it kind of undermines the world you've created. I'd tone him down a bit, to be honest. Saying he's a 'caricature' isn't really much of an excuse... after all, who wants caricatures? We want real characters. At the moment the joke falls flat almost instantly and as a result so does he.

[El Zilcho]

English Jim is really over done on the first chapter, and I did take that to heart. He won't be as ridiculous next time. I proof read this chapter but was a little short on time and I have the bad habit of making mistakes like typing 'my' instead of 'by' so those will probably creep in now and again. Hope you enjoy it.

 

Farmhouse Raid

 

“I’m not a bad man. In this here world of ours, can anyone truly say what bad is? It’s all relative, right? Morals are a personal thing – what makes it correct for a soldier to kill in the name of war, but wrong for me to kill in order to further my personal needs. A soldier kills for medals, while I kill for money. The difference is too small to notice in the bigger picture. While I’m standing here in front of you, you probably hate my guts. Deep down you want to kill me, stick a knife in deep in my eye; and maybe now you see it! You want to kill me because I’m robbing you of your livelihood, but you’re still contemplating murder as brutal and easy as I do everyday. My ‘profession’ means I kill people just about every week. If you had a weapon you wouldn’t hesitate using it on me – that makes us about the same. In our heart of hearts we were born innocent, we’re all human. Two lungs, a heart. Life, not God, makes us who we are – there is no black or white, no right or wrong. Only our choices, our experiences and society dictate who we are and how we should act. Can you really call me a bad person for not allowing my life to be mapped out by laws, drawn up by the privileged, born rich Senators? I’m only getting by like you are, in my own unique way. Cooperate with me and no one has to die, or even get hurt. Consider that while we empty your ranch of horses.”

 

Vicious Bob’s bottomless blue eyes cut deep into Mr Howard. His lecture had calmed the farmer down somewhat; like a pupil learning from a teacher he sat back calmly. Not that he had much choice, being tie up. Still, he felt he could now express himself, so he replied to Bob.

 

“You honestly believe in your own words? Can’t you see how preposterous they sound? I’ve worked my entire life to support people around me, my parents, children, wi-“He stopped himself. He’d heard all about how the Dalton Boys had their way with the wives of the people they robbed. And so he decided to hide the fact he had a wife. “Fancy words don’t justify death.”

 

“Who said I was gonna kill anyone. You cross me and I’ll fill with more holes than a pin cushion, but if you stay nice and courteous as you already have then we’ll be nice and dandy.”

 

Bob turned to face the window, looking out at the barn. His two best veterans, Adam van Zanten and Terry Blake were grabbing the last of the horses. With a hefty haul of about $300 from the farmhouse already, the horses would fetch a good profit when sold. Bob ran his eyes over the particular stallion he would keep as his own.

 

“It’s done Boss. Let’s get gone before anyone comes!” Terry shouted across the ranch. Twilight was fast setting in, and the blanket of darkness would protect them from any nosey neighbours in the area. For once, Bob was pleased with the days work. No blood spilled, no attention grabbed. Today, maybe he could have a peaceful nights sleep back at camp. Devoid of shooting or throat slicing.

 

“Kind sir, I’m afraid I’ll have to bid you ‘adieu’” Bob jokingly bowed, like some Lord at Royal Court. He wryly grinned and chuckled before stepping out the door and walking down the stairs. “Don’t pull on them ropes too hard!” He shouted his parting comment back to the bound farmer. Bob and the boys mounted their horses outside – Terry having a little trouble with his brown Pinto. Adam rode forward and gathered the 10 stolen horses into a large group, while Terry covered the flank with his Winchester. He didn’t do a very good job though, as about a minute into their journey back a shot rang out from the night. All three jumped off their horses. Haphazardly they rolled into a ditch by the side of the road. The shot spooked the stolen horses, and they galloped away hooves thundering in unison.

 

“Mr Howard! I told you to keep quiet. I’m going to have to hurt you now old man!” Bob shouted, edging his head up, ever so slightly over the grassy knoll. He could just about make out a figure standing on the porch of the farmhouse, illuminated from behind by a gas lamp. He was too short to be the man of the house.

 

“Who the f*cks are you!? We said let us go in peace and we’ll leave you be. Are you stupid or something? You must be asking to die!” Adam called again, crawling forward a little. His motion must have been spotted because another gunshot rang out; this time the bullet hit the soil by Adam’s head and sent grass flying all over. He jumped back and rolled into the again ditch, landing awkwardly on Terry’s leg. Bob kept an eye on the front of the house – it looked as if it was the farmer’s son shooting at them.

 

“Get gone you no good bastards! I’m gonna ride out and get the Sheriff if you boys don’t disappear real quick you hear! I ain’t letting you rob my Pa blind; those horses are what we need to survive on. If you’re gonna take ‘em, then we expect payment, you no good rustling thieves.” The boy shouted while reloading the repeater. He cast long shadows across the ground, his movements and gesticulations exaggerated by the light like a shadow puppet show. Adam squirreled his way over to Bob’s viewing point on the ground, and tapped him on the shoulder.

 

“Bob, give over your rifle. I can take the shot from here, you know I can. I’ll hit him square in the head, he ain’t gonna pin us here all night, that’s for sure. Little bastard trying to be a hero.” Adam whispered while stroking his goatee. A cool breeze began to blow, and the long grass cast spindly shadows over the men’s moonlit faces.

 

“I’ll let you shoot him, but I want you to take his leg out. No, better yet. Think you can hit his rifle?” Bob looked dead straight at Adam – it was his ‘I’m counting on you’ leadership look, the one that inspired so many to insanity. Adam nodded.

 

“I can hit the eye of a bird flying, you know that.”

 

“Good. I wanna teach this little prick a lesson, you hear Adam? He’s no use to me dead. We’ve already lost the horses we came for and I ain’t gonna let him steal our dignity.” Bob looked up over at his faithful steed; it was unspooked by the gunfire and if he was careful he could still reach the rifle on the holster without drawing any fire. Better yet, he was the leader. He could get someone to do it for him.

 

“Terry, get your ass up here. Grab my rifle quick, don’t fret now. That boy’s an amateur. He couldn’t hit a barn door let alone your head from there. Come on, chop chop.” Bob gestured to the horse, raising his eyebrows. Terry frowned nervously, knowing full well that the kid had nearly taken his head off about a minute ago. His left eye twitched anxiously, and edging closer to the road he caught sight of the kid moving around on the porch about 100 yards away. Jumping like a coiled snake, he tugged on the Springfield rifle and tore it from the holster. Diving back he landed heavily on Adam, returning the favour.

Another shot rang out, flying over Terry’s head. He felt the whoosh of air and gulped in a heavy lungful of air – thankful to be alive. Deep breath after deep breath, he clutched the rifle to his chest.

 

“Come on you damn pansy, what you waiting for?” Adam said with a twinge of bravado, grabbing the rifle from his friend. He loaded it, and aiming down the sights he spotted the boy. He smiled smugly, quarry in sight.

 

“Stupid kid, thinking he’s a gen-u-ine gunslinger. His balls ain’t even dropped. I’ll show him.” Adam squeezed the trigger. An almighty bang later and the kid’s rifle was blasted out of his hands, showering his arm with shards of wood splinters. He screamed loudly, and the three men took their chance with no hesitation. They ran up the road, feet throwing up dust everywhere. They fired their guns all over the place like a circus show. Disorganised but quick like lightning, they were soon upon the boy like a pack of wolves.

 

“I want him alive!” Bob bellowed. As soon as they reached the farmhouse, Adam immediately stamped his foot on the boy’s hand. The spurs dug into his hand and drew more crimson. The boy’s hand was tantalisingly close to reaching the rifle on the floorboards, mere inches away. Bob boomed his threats with malice.

 

“I’m going to make you pay you little f*ck. I TOLD YOU, I warned YOU to keep quiet. Your Pa ever teach manners you little sh*tbag!?” Vaguely, over all the commotion he could hear Mr Howard shouting from indoors to keep away from his boy. Empty threats, coming from a man tied up. Terry grabbed the Howard Jr. by his hair and tugged him to his feet. The farmer’s son mustn’t have been any older than 14, yet he was braver than most who crossed Bob Dalton’s path. Dumber than most too.

 

“Get off me! Get off!” He struggled admirably but he was never going to be a match for the towering outlaws. Bob threw him onto a chair in the front room and drew his pistol. The boy tried to stand, but Bob firmly grabbed a hold of his shoulder and thrust him into his seat once more.

 

“Try that again and I’ll decorate this room with your brains kid. And then I’ll do the same to ‘Daddy’. I’m in no mood for little sh*ts like you” He jabbed the boy with the barrel of the pistol “screwing up my day. You speak, try to move or even so much as spit I’ll break your jaw, you hear?” Bob inhaled deeply and shot the boy an icy look. Jr. nodded very slowly.

 

“Hahaha, you ain’t so big now huh? Aw, you upset ‘cos I’m a better shot than you? Didn’t expect old Adam shoot the gun out your hands, did you.” Adam grinned and kicked the boy hard in the knee. Terry flicked out his knife from his belt, and started running it menacingly along an adjacent chair. It sliced through the upholstery and exposed the stuffing inside. He grinned ominously, subliminally threatening the kid – who all the while struggled to stay composed. Mr Howard was still shouting for them to have mercy.

 

“Terry, go upstairs and shut our host up.” Bob mumbled, still with his revolver to the boy’s head.

 

“What? Get Adam to do it, I wanna see this.” Terry sadistically started pulling a chair over, grinding it loudly on the floorboards. He was determined to watch the show.

 

“Get the f*ck upstairs Terry. NOW! I won’t ask you again.” Bob spat, his face turning red with rage. Terry almost fell off the chair, propping himself off the ground with his knife. Nodding, he rushed upstairs to threaten Howard into silence. Meanwhile, Bob stepped back and finally decided what he’d do to the little inconvenience on his hands.

 

“Boy, you’ve damn near ruined my whole night. I could have had a good night’s sleep for once, a rare gooddamn occurrence for me! I never sleep too good after I hurt people.” He clicked the revolver open and unloaded 5 bullets. Spinning the cylinder, he clicked it back into place. All around, the silence in the room was deafening. Flipping the revolver around in his hand smoothly, he placed it in the boy’s bloodied fingers.

 

“Got a game for you to play kid. Put that you your head, and pull the trigger. 1/6 chance you die. 5/6 you live. Not bad odds. You win the game, I leave your house. You lose, you die. You don’t play, I come back with 5 more boys and kill your Dad, your brothers, and your Ma when she comes back. I’ll make you watch, and when we’re finished I’ll gut you like the dog you are. Follow me?”

 

Bob finally released the boy’s shoulder and stepped back. Tears began to well up in the boy’s eyes. He found that inner strength, the inner well of courage and power he’d need to do this. To do it for his family. His hand shook with fear, but clutching the revolver tightly he brought it agonisingly to his temple. His heart was beating like drum, slamming against his sternum. Threatening to break through with its veracity.

 

That moment lasted an eternity. Outside, the crickets sang and the rattlesnake shook it’s rattle to the rhythm of nature.

 

Click.

 

The boy sighed. The crickets kept on singing, and the rattlesnake kept on rattling. Life went on.

 

Bob took the revolver from his hand.

 

“Is that it? He get’s off with that?” Adam asked, completely bemused. Bob took Adam’s shoulder and pushed him out the door roughly. Upstairs Terry heard the talking and walked back down, rubbing his fist.

 

“Had to knock the loud bastard clean out. We done here?”

 

“Yeah, wait outside. Go with Adam and get the horses.” Terry stepped out, casting the boy a final, parting look of hate. Bob started to walk away, feigning an exit. Then he turned around slowly to face the child.

 

“Kid.” Bob said quietly. The boy looked up, drenched in sweat. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

 

A single shot rang out. The echo lasted forever.

[Eminence]

Oh wow, I absolutely loved the last scene there. Fantastic scenario and brilliantly written. The juxtaposition of the boy's racing thoughts and then the serene scenes outside worked so well, and then the twist to finish it all of genuinely was unexpected. I liked the speech at the start - seemed to give Bob a backbone of honour, but as the chapter went on that all seemed like a charade, until the game at the end. Then, just when you think he's got that sense of honour to him - bam.

 

Excellent chapter. Keep it up, man, this is brilliant. It's all good having the right imagery, nice similes and great dialogue - which you've had so far - but now you're adding in the most important thing, the story elements. And that last scene just blew me away.

[Tyler]

Dear lord you've got a good story going here, Zilcho. A well executed story about the West is one of my favourite types of fiction, and you have yet to disappoint, here. Like Em said, the pseudo-honour shtick that Bob carries makes him all the more sinister with his approach. The ensemble team building thing on the lawmen side is perfect too, it's the sort of story that can keep one interested.

 

English Jim seems a little eccentric for this story, especially if he was only meant to be comic relief. Otherwise, the characters are all very real, and the plot is going places, for sure. I can't wait to see what else you have in store for this.

[El Zilcho]

Thank you very much guys! I never expected the reception I've been getting so that's a great feeling. Hopefully I can deliver adequately for the next chapter (I think we'll return to Sean and Jim, at least momentarily) - and if anyone around these parts who has trouble planning stories (*cough* Ziggy *cough*) I haven't planned this story at all. It's all free flowing, in that as I write I plan ahead. Spontaneity is my key to creativity. It's what broke my writing draught.

[Mokrie Dela]

I must admit i'm worried about this.

 

It's not that it's poorly written - it's written well - or that its not believable or anything because it is.

 

I'm worried that you haven't planned it out. This is shaping up REAL nice, and i'd hate to see it end up with no direction.

 

I hope you have already sat down and noted down where it's going, made yourself a little plan/story board sort of thing.

I hope it's all planned out, and you know whats going to happen in 5, 10 chapters time, and that it's already written in your head as it were.

 

I'm not saying that being spontaneous will fail, I have had it work once or twice, but personally, for me, it doesn't work - the problem i've had with Thames was that. Once you sit down and plan things out, you can tie future chapters with early ones, drop hints that, when things are revealed, the readers goes: "OF COURSE!"

 

Take michelle in IV for example. she's a UC, and there's hints (albeit it VERY obvious) about it. When it's revealed, if you havnt guessed, it's suddenly so clear!

 

What i want you to do is to jot down a very simple list, of what happens. Not necessarily listing every single debate, but having the plot and storylines noted down, so you KNOW where it's going.

 

I have had so many of my own writings fall apart due to lack of planning which was a shame.

 

HOWEVER: I am not saying that it's impossible to just "go with the flow" and if you pull it off, i'll be impressed

 

Either way i'm looking forward to the next chapter - I'm enjoying this.

Edited February 21, 2011 by Mokrie Dela

[El Zilcho]

Personally I always go with the flow. When I try and plan it there is never any emotion or feeling in it, if you catch where I'm going with this. It feels robotic when I plan, but when I just write when the feeling comes to me it's fine. I know where the story is going somewhat in my head (based around key images and scenes can depict) but to sit down and write a plan would not work for me at all.

 

I appreciate the concern but it's just the way I write, and if I were to plan it out it would definitely lose the spur of the moment thing about it, which drives all my work. Don't worry, this thing isn't going to end disjointed - I have plenty of thinking time in between each chapter to get a clear idea of what to do next and how to link it in with the bigger picture.

[El Zilcho]

 

White Owl in the Stars

 

“So what do you say? You’d be our most valuable asset – I’ve heard great stories about you and it would such an honour if you could track these no good sons of bitches for us. And of course, there is also the bounty in it for you. I’m not qualified to get a share as I’m a lawman, but you’re classed as a bounty hunter in this situation, so you’re more than welcome to split the reward with the other boys.” Sean was crouched down by the fire, English polishing his buffalo rifle further away in the shadows. In front of both was Onacona, also known as White Owl. A legendary American Indian tracker, responsible in years gone past for some incredible feats of tracking.

 

Onacona sat pensively, staring endlessly into the flickering flames as they sliced through the cool air; the dancing fire casting huge shadows and spreading orange light across his features. The scene was like a moving cave painting; a fantastic mix of earthly colours in the deep darkness of night. Far away in the distance, a wolf howled at the full moon and a jack rabbit hopped along the path behind camp. Onacona turned around slowly, and pointing his finger at all the nature around him he spoke slowly –

 

“I have long left that part of my life behind. All the gold in the world is not worth giving up my peaceful existence here. I am a happy man today; without your people harming me or my tribe as it once was. I know days of peace are numbered; but I want to live them out in comfort.” Onacona turned away from Sean and stared back into the fireplace, poking the simmering embers with a stick. English overheard this and spoke up.

 

“Look boy, I know the white man has hardly been fair or welcoming to you. And I fully understand your wanting to sit here peacefully for all eternity. But these men are truly evil; you’ve got a chance here to do something brilliant and unique, to rid the world of a menace. It should be an honour, not an insult that we’ve trekked all the way out here to find you specifically, because we’re under the impression you’re the best. Imagine what a great life you and your entire tribe could have if you split the rewards between you? $60,000 split down 5 between me, you and the other 3 we’re going after. That would bloody well set you for life! We are in need of a tracker, because this gang-“English was cut off abruptly.

 

“Dalton’s Boys are one of the most mobile, pain in the ass people to keep up with. They literally retrieved one of their men front right under our noses, and then disappeared into the sands. We need your expertise with this line of work. Just consider it.” Sean was pleading now. Onacona looked up at the stars, his face pitted with deep emotion. He was lost in memories and childhood stories, reminding himself of why he was ever a tracker to begin with. Finally, he reached his conclusion. Speaking warmly, he pointed at a particular constellation.

 

“I was told once by my Uncle that my Grandfather is up there, preserved in the stars. He was a great tracker and the best hunter I’ve ever heard of – better than I’ll ever be. He worked with your forefathers to explore and discover the western limits of this land, and when war came he worked with the Union to catch Bushwhackers. All you say is trivial in this life, transcendent and passing; but if in the next life I can make my Grandfather proud by tracking these men down. Then I’ll do it. And I’ll do it” Onacona smiled thinly, like a world weary veteran. Sean grinned back, shaking his hand with vigour. He stood up to go, but Onacona called back.

 

“We can’t leave now. Not unless you want wolves and bears to tear you limb from limb. Stay until morning friend, and then we will begin our great journey.” Sean sat back down, unpacking his sleeping materials on the way. High above, thunder boomed like a thousand cannon salute. Lightning momentarily illuminated the world around them in flickering white tones. Again and again the heavens crashed and surged like a great tsunami shattering the coast. The sky was in high tide.

 

“I’m going to miss a bloody roof over my head tonight, I tell you.” English Jim mumbled. The first droplets of rain began to fall, slowly like autumn leaves. Then they showered heavy and cold, smothering the fire and plunging all 3 into silent darkness. With only the pitter patter of rain on their hats to keep them company as they drifted into deep sleep. 2 down, 3 to go.

 

[General Goose]

Bravo on the last two chapters. And the new English, while still the same character, is less over-the-top, so kudos.

[Eminence]

Yeah, he's sounding a lot better now but you still get the same sense of character, and I'm sure you'd still be able to make him more over the top just in brief spurts to keep that comedic contrast going. Decent chapter, does its job well. Some of the dialogue was excellent, it's not just getting from a to b - it's making the journey interesting along the way, good stuff. Liked the paragraph about the weather at the end, too. Captures the moment perfectly.

[Tyler]

Just one part that didn't read right with me,

 

 

I have long left that part of my life behind.

 

It seems like it's extremely redundant to me. You could drop the behind, the long or just drop [part of my life] altogether. It's just me personally I'm sure, but it seems to read oddly when taken in context to the other flowing sentences.

[El Zilcho]

It's kind of overdone a little because I wanted him to talk a bit grandly (like a wise American Indian) so it sounds as if he's speaking very richly. Perhaps you are right, I'll take note. Thanks for all the feedback people, really appreciate it and hopefully I'll get a chapter up tomorrow. It'll be on Dalton again I think.

 

Train robbery anyone?