HIDE TOWN, 1876
by Charles D. Phillips
Cotton Simpson and the First Sergeant chatted amicably as they walked toward La Cantina, a saloon in The Flat. The Flat was a raw town on the Texas plains situated next to Fort Griffin. Separating the troopers stationed at that post from as much of their $13 to $18 a month as possible was its sole reason for existence.
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The Wedding Toast
(Pflugerville, Texas, 1882)
by Charles D. Phillips
Almost all the community gathered in the Heldfeldt’s barn, where fresh straw covered the dirt floor and battled the smell of dried horse sweat and dung. Old Axel played the fiddle nestled in the crook of his left elbow. Reinhardt brought his battered washboard, and Big Herman played his spoons. Erhardt called the dances and sang traditional songs. After an hour, Erhardt’s dry throat and sweat-soaked shirt required a break.
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A Prairie Song
(1879)
by Charles D. Phillips
The morning started out just fine. With only a two-day ride left to Buffalo Gap, Jake had found a spot last night where a wet creek pooled and created a stand of mesquite perfect for a pleasant overnight camp. He spent the next morning giving his buckskin gelding, Paco, a good rub and brushing, knocking a week of trail grit out of his coat. He cooked the last of his bacon, made a pan of biscuits, and boiled himself a pot of coffee. A good breakfast in the soft mesquite shade and lingering over a cup of good coffee, while his pony grazed on sweet bottom grass was a luxury he knew only rarely. He had filled all his canteens the night before, and the remainder of the biscuits and bacon would last until he reached the traders’ camp at The Gap.
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The Hunters Story
(North Texas, 1879)
Bt Charles D. Phillips
“Captain,” the Trooper said, “we got something strange up ahead.” The Trooper, a newly-minted cavalry man assigned to the forward picket detail had reined in just late enough to send up a cloud of caliche dust that floated into the faces of his officers. Captain Grantham coughed, looking to his First Sergeant and nodding. The Sergeant touched his cap. If this wasn’t a life-and-death situation, that Trooper would spend the rest of this patrol riding at the end of a hundred-man column moving forward four abreast across the dry Texas plains. The reward for his impetuousness would be far more than his fair ration of dust.
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LA PALOMA BLANCA
by Charles D. Phillips
Matamoros, Mexico
December, 1862
One evening some months after his arrival in Mexico from Texas, Jurian Becker was seated at the table farthest from the door of his favorite place in Matamoros, La Paloma Blanca. It was a cantina that served good drinks and better food. The cantina and kitchen occupied the front of the abode building. The owner and his family lived in the rear portion. Behind the main building were a vegetable garden, some pens for goats and chickens and a smaller building that had been divided into three casitas the family rented out. The entire property was surrounded by tall, armless Saguaro cactus planted so closely together that they built an impregnable fence. The only entrances to the yard were through the main hallway that ran the length of the main building and a gate hung just to the side of the mail building. Jurian rented one of the casitas. He liked the family, the food, and the safety of the arrangement. He boarded his big, buckskin saddle horse, Jitters, at a nearby stable.
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