Oak Creek Canyon
Bill Henderson
It was a pleasant camp, situated on the banks of Oak Creek, a few miles south of Flagstaff, where he had delivered a prisoner, just yesterday. He spent the night under an overhang, enjoying the sound of a soft rain and the burbling of the creek water. He found some dry wood under another overhang, built a small fire, heated a pot of coffee, and fried some bacon. He was a contended man when he rolled into his blankets and drifted off.
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The Yarnell Bank
Bill Henderson
It was one of the smoothest jobs he had ever done. The lock on the bank’s front door yielded easily to his expertise, so he stepped into the darkness, found a place to hide, and waited for the dawn, carefully re-locking the door behind him. He didn’t want to alert the banker that anything was amiss.
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The Yuma Stage
Bill Henderson
From the cloud of dust and the clatter of steel rims on stones, I knew the afternoon stage from Yuma was just over the next rise, maybe half a mile off and headed my way, so I rode off the road, just as four men appeared from out of a dry wash. They pulled bandannas over their faces and took up positions on either side of the road. They hadn’t seen me, so I dismounted and let the reins trail on the ground. Old Doby was well trained and wouldn’t go anywhere. He found a patch of grass and contentedly went to grazing, paying no attention to the sins of man.
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Maggie May McAllister
Bill Henderson
There was a low, morning mist hanging in the Iowa woods, and not a breeze to be had. I’d heard a big old, bushy-tailed red squirrel jabbering at something, and I had him spotted. This one would make four and that’s a fair breakfast for three folks. Pa was still in Waterloo, so it was just me, Ma, and Maggie May.
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Turkey Creek
Bill Henderson
Jake could still faintly hear the wagon retreating and again he cautioned his younger brother not to move until he was sure it was gone. Yesterday morning, they had been fishing the Verde River on the northern boundary of the ranch, when the man in the wagon pulled up. He had motioned Jake over and told him, “Your pa’s been hurt. Your ma and them sent me to fetch you boys back to the ranch house.” Worried, Jake and Sam scrambled in and found themselves staring into the stranger’s short barreled shotgun. “You boys get back in that there wagon bed and shut up. Now be quick about it.”
They had been bound hand and foot with twine, placed into burlap feed sacks and covered with a canvas tarp. “You boys make one sound and I’ll fix you good. So you’d best hush up if you know what’s good for you.”
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The Bonnet
Bill Henderson
He closed the doors to the barn and carefully inserted the bar through the loops, wiring it into place to keep the wind from jarring it loose. Reaching up, he found the rope and peered through the snow looking for the lights of the house. Nothing. Well, that’s the reason for the rope he told himself, and began to trudge through the drifts toward the unseen house.
The blizzard had started that morning under a leaden sky with a few harmless looking flakes that failed to fool Charlie Gunderson. After fifteen years, he knew the signs and this was shaping up to be a bad one. He remembered his first blizzard here and how he had lost his way in the one hundred and fifty foot walk between the barn and the house. Only the sound of the screen door slamming in the wind had saved him that time. After that, he put up the rope at the first sign of snow.
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