Short Stories & Tall Tales by Don Emigh
I've written stories in several genres and had fiction published in a
regional magazine.
I grew up in the West - Arizona and Colorado - with some early adult
years spent in South Dakota at Pierre. Yes, just across the river from
Casey Tibbs' Ft. Pierre--and at the same time, too (late '40's). He
was a hero of mine, back in those days. Now, my wife and I live in
Seattle, Washington.
I wrote "Prairie Wells" as a series of short stories for the
entertainment of my grandsons. The stories hung together so well,
centered on the character of Dade Foster, that I combined them for a
novella. "Poco Muerte" was started with the same idea in mind, with
the character of the the gunman Quade on center stage. I'm still
working on this series - with the help of my grandson!
An Afternoon Outside Fort Yuma
Don Emigh
Wilcox lifted the carbine with one arm and rested it on the sandy
embankment. Blood from his left arm had soaked his shirt. He rolled
slightly to the right to look at his arm, and it was bad. Muttering
curses, he thought, "This is it. After all the close calls, here's the
one I'm not going to ride away from."
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Mahan's Lake
Don Emigh
Mahan slumped in his saddle, now totally discouraged. He had topped the rise only to look down on a sere and wasted valley white with alkali and shimmering with heat. The same as yesterday. The parched, bare hills across the valley were exactly like the hill his horse had just climbed. Methodically, carefully, Mahan looked up and down the valley. There was no tell-tale stand of cottonwood or willow. The valley gave not the slightest sign of water anywhere within its basin.
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Poco Muerte
By Don Emigh
Reinert put his elbows on the bar and leaned across and stared at the bartender. He said, "I got three men out there, amigo. I'm going to ask again, where's El Cerdo? I know he's somewhere here in Poco Muerte. You know where he is since you got the only saloon in town. Where is . . ."
On the street in front of the saloon the quiet of the afternoon siesta hour was abruptly shattered by a swelling riot of shouts and curses. The growing commotion was emphasized by several shotgun blasts and the crashing bang of revolver fire. At the rail along the front of the saloon horses reared, pawing and screaming in panic. All of this lasted only a minute or two and then, after two more belated revolver shots, there was silence.
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Prairie Wells
By Don Emigh
Not quite long enough to be considered a Novelette, This story is told on five parts.
Part One of Five
What Really Happened at Prairie Wells
Parker threw a small stone into the fire and watched the sparks fly. He said, "How come everybody calls you 'Sheriff,' Dade? You're no more a sheriff than I am, or Cookie over there. We're all jes' wranglers an' pokes. How'd you come by that handle, anyway? You don't even look like a sheriff, my way o' thinkin'." He tilted his hat back on his head and looked across at Foster.
.........."You know, I think I'm going to get rid of this 'Sheriff' moniker once an' for all. Right here with you gents. Because when I'm through tellin' you what happened, you'll see..........
Read Part One Here>>
Part Two, Dade Foster, Gunfighter>>
Part Three, The Lord's Protector>>
Part Four, The Wichita Kid>>
Part Five, Three Riders>>
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