Return of the Throwback

Here it is! The second half of the 2009 throwback snippets.

Dakota Lorenzo
"Hullo boy."
The horse snorted softly at her voice.
"Like him?"
Dakota jumped at the voice. She turned quickly to look at its owner. He was tall and lean, and his face was brown from the sun. A well worn hat shaded his eyes. He wore high top boots, Levi's, a faded red shirt, and a six shooter. A black silk bandana circled his neck. He was obviously a cowpuncher.

Come on guys, he obviously was. Hmmm, what to nit pick about in this one...how about the two uses of 'voice' within the first four sentences? And the info dump that followed? I liked him. I don't remember his name, but he was my pet cowpuncher.

Kendra Darby
"What'd you bring?" Asked West.
Kendra looked inside the basket. "Roast beef sandwiches, biscuits, an cookies for dessert."
West licked his lips.

I searched high and low for a better snippet in the story than this one. There was just so much death so fast, and no emotion to go with it, so roast beef sandwiches it is.

Joy Darrett
"This is going to be a dangerous trip. I aint got time to babysit."
Joy lifted her chin. "I'm thirteen years old, I can take care of myself. Danger doesn't scare me. And my parents don't care because they're dead."
Jacob studied her. "Sorry, boy. Well, on this trip you need to have and know how to use a gun."
"That's not a problem sir."
"And there's to be no whiskey, but I take it that's not a problem either."
"No sir."

This one grew out of a love for Louis Lamour's book The Lonesome Gods. Apparently I thought I (and my character) was invincible at 13.

Missy Dale
The constant Texas wind blew across the sun browned prairie grass. If you stood on a hill, you could watch a gust move across the grass all the way to the Chinati Mountains. Longhorn cattle dotted the landscape of the Rocking D Ranch. They watched lazily as Missy Dale rode by on the black gelding, Trigger. She was Troy and Louise Dale's only child. Thirteen years before, she'd been born in the big ranch house.

Remember the Jay Marie girl from last time's set of stories? Missy is basically the same girl. I just got tired of Jay's story and started this one. And I'm 99% sure I described living in Nebraska, not Texas. And if you ever have any questions about how old I was when I wrote a story in the past, simply check the main character's age- We always match.

Civil War Letters
A young man walked through the waving green grass. His Union blue uniform was stained and wrinkled from a long day's march. He gratefully sat down in the shade of a gigantic tree. The breeze played with his dirty blond hair. He closed his eyes and leaned against the rough bark. A bird called and he cracked an eye to look at it. A simple blackbird. The bird did not interest him, but what it was standing on did. He reached out and grabbed the package. The bird protested loudly and flew away. Letters.

I am still 100% in love with this story. I wish I could get it finished.

Mandy #5
"Don't touch him."
Mandy withdrew her hand "What's wrong?"
"Don't touch him." Said Jay Cee casually. "That there is the meanest horse this side of the Missouri River"
Mandy stared at Jay Cee. "How come you keep him?"
Jay Cee's eyes flashed. "Cause he don't take no trash off nobody. And he's fast, and big, and strong. Makes for a good cowpony. And besides, I can handle him just fine."

I'm certain I knew way more about what is and isn't a good cowpony than I let on in this piece. I'm certain of it. By that time I had been riding them for five years.

Shootout at Turkey Creek
A notorious horse thief ad occasional bank robber, he was well known for his handle bar moustache, sombrero style hat, and his twin pistols. They were eagle-butt peacemaker forty-fives. Their mother of pearl grips displayed the Mexican emblem. There was a $700 reward out for him. Dead or alive.

I had to write this one for school, and it happened shortly after I found a (toy) sheriffs badge buried in my backyard. It was a tragic story of what all happened on my ranch in the 1850's. I was very proud of my gun knowledge.

School project
I looked through the keyhole and saw a man. His coat nearly reached the floor. He was pointing a Colt '45 at something. Something, or someone.
"Give it to me!" He whispered angrily.
A voice, who's owner I could not see, answered. "I told you, I don't have it anymore. It's gone."
"You're lying." Yelled the first man.
Three shots thundered in the room. I heard the sound of glass breaking. Then I ran. As far and as fast as I could.

I seem to remember by dad telling me a story similar to this one, but I don't know if it was before or after I wrote this. I love how the whispered sentence ends in an exclamation mark, and the yelled sentence ends in a period. Also, my viewer can see way more through a keyhole than I can.

School Project
"Hello." Said the pumpkin.
I nearly dropped my carving knife. I looked around to be sure no one was watching, then leaned close to the pumpkin and whispered, "Did you say something?"
"Yes." The black mouth I had drawn on him moved as he spoke. The pumpkin make a coughing noise. "Not to be rude, but would you kindly give me some eyes?"
"Oh. Yeah." I giggled. I picked up my marker and drew two big eyes on him.
"Much better. Now I can see where I'm going."
"What do you mean? You're staying with me."
"Oh no, I'm not staying with some freak with a carving knife. Besides, I've got to help The Great Pumpkin deliver presents to the good little kid with no hair, in the most sincere pumpkin patch ever."
And with that, the pumpkin hopped off my porch and down the street

I take offense that I let that mouthy pumpkin refer to me as a 'freak with a carving knife'. Charlie Brown anyone?