Welcome To The Bullpen
The arena where amature western authors can submit Western Short Stories and have the opportunity to receive feedback from you, the readers.
For the most part, these authors are greenhorns and this is a forum to help them improve their craft. Feedback is very important to the continued growth of any writer so please give them the courtesy of CONSTRUCTIVE criticism and also let them know when they’ve done well. Please keep in mind this is a family oriented website and these authors may not yet be the professionals they hope to become. Your feedback should reflect that. But then again… you can be constructive and still be tough; after all, this is the BULLPEN.
Along Came Smith
R. Michael Brown
Lariat Smith and Ike Moon were cowhands who had ridden down from Kansas to see if the grass was greener in Texas. Smith was twenty-five, yet in Moon’s mind he was still a pup—wet behind the ears. Lariat was six foot and large framed. He was clean-shaven, square-jawed, with blue eyes and black hair under a narrow-brimmed hat. Moon was fifty, yet in Smith’s eyes he was an old coot—set in his ways.
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Anna’s Prayer
Lowell A. Ziemann
CH 1
With the setting sun warming his back, Marshal Dan Zach rode slowly back to Fairview. The beauty of the shadows creeping up the slopes of the White Mountains with various shades of gold and green suited his somber mood. A tall man, he was splendidly dressed in his Sunday best; grey suit, white shirt, with string tie. His badge peeked out proudly from his vest. His grey hat sat straight on his head. His eyes, usually alert or narrowed with concern, seemed vague and drifting. He rode unusually relaxed. His mind wandered over the peaceful events that had transpired that Sunday…the small church on the edge of town, the congregational picnic, the ride with Anna to her ranch, and the comfortable conversation.
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A Cowboys Day
Robert Blankenship
He’s up early in the morn
Rising way before the dawn
He wants to git out and git to workn
Lord knows, He’s got a lotta work to git done
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"A Few Precious Acre's"
Delia J. Fry
Who chose this trail
These endless miles
Promising not to fail
With fear in their smiles
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Fletcher’s Pride
By Robert Nicholas
Ol’ Fletcher pulled himself up from the rectangular hole in the ground and sat atop the mound of freshly dug earth next to it. As he inhaled deeply, a smile spread across his weathered face. This had to be what the Great Hereafter smelled like; dirt, fresh wood, and flowers.
He took a long sip from a silver hip flask and grimaced. The last of the burial witnesses had left with the Parson, and all was once again quiet in the cemetery.
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Broken
Bro. Brad Curtis
There he stood as if chiseled in stone with nostrils flaring
With a stance that seem to say, who will be so daring
Who would climb upon his back and try to ride
This mighty steed of such power and kingly pride
For one could see he was master of the brood
He offered protection and capture had been his job to allude
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Billy Wilder
By Harold Ratliff
Billy stepped out of the cabin well fore daylight. The feel of the cool morning air felt good against his grizzled old face. Billy really wasn’t that old but his thirty odd years and the life he lead made him feel that way. Stepping back inside, he grabs his first cup of coffee to begin the day. Billy took this job bout six months ago. Too many people were beginning to want him dead. His former life as a hired gun was catching up with him fast. Seemed there was nowhere Billy could go that death wasn’t following. Sitting down in a saloon for a stiff drink or a good game of cards can never happen again he thought to himself.
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Harry Loiter – The founder of a town out west called Procrastination
By Ted Robbens
Some Pioneers heading west
Would fail in their quest
Because their belongings exceeded
The basics they needed
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I Ran Into Butch Cassidy
By Oscar Case
It was a rainy, foggy, cold, wet night when I stopped into The Lost Boot Saloon for a quick belly-warmer. The whiskey business was slow in the Lost Boot and no wonder. It sat at the bottom of Clay Hill all by itself. The town was on top of the hill, and when the road gets wet like tonight, nobody was going to venture down the hill on a horse or in a wagon. The wet clay stuck to everything and it was about eighteen inches deep. And that was not the only reason. The town was the only habitation around for miles at the edge of the Uintah Mountains. So, I found myself to be the only customer.
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To the Man in the Woods
By Ronald Anick
He looked out the window of his cabin nestled at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. The land was covered with a layer of snow so deep that he was sure it was over his head still in many places. Yet, this was already the end of March, and summer seemed so far away. It didn’t matter. Here in this structure he’d built last fall he was safe and warm.
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Where I Belong
By Rebecca Rose Taylor
Rounding up cattle for a living was all right according to Grant Stewart, the newest hired hand for The Box A Ranch in Cheyenne, Wyoming but if did have its downfalls. It wasn’t a good life for a family man, too hard a life for women and children or so many men thought, some found it all right. It all depended on the woman and her upbringing, a lot of things could happen on a ranch, people could get hurt, the same thing goes for a western town. In the year 1872, it was just too much for a lot of women could handle others like the ranch owner Michael Brigg’s daughter Hannah could handle it but that was just her upbringing.
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From Dark to Done
By Harold Ratliff
Up before the morning sun,
a full days work, so much to be done.
Feed the horses before your own,
grab a bite to eat, then get going.
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The Testament of Friendship
By Stephen Cunningham
The three men sat beside the fire they had going in the dryness of the summer’s riverbed. It hadn’t rained in these parts for months, and usually didn’t this time of year. It was more of a scar carved out from where the water was, than a river, now. When the rains came again, it would be a couple of feet deep in places, but that was a while off yet and these men had no need to worry. They’d even get a good night’s sleep. A coyote might sniff around the edges, smelling beans, but besides the spiders, they’d be fine. Their horses tethered not too far away, and the stars all shining overhead. Three men on their ways back home.
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One Lone Rider
By Stephen Cunningham
One lone rider, sitting on the ground. Watching another stage get robbed. From high up on a hill he watches, as three bandits aim their rifles at the stage men and get the box passed down. Whatever money was in their pockets, also. Then the three thieves ride off, and the one lone man gets to his feet, over to his own horse, and slowly rides to follow them. Doesn’t want to catch up just yet. He’ll wait, being patient until darkness has settled. They will only have one man standing watch, if that. They’re all too far out in the wild lands for federales to have shown up yet, so they won’t be too worried about being found. One lone rider creeping in, as the camp fire dwindles, as the coals are seething but the light from them is minimal. Getting rid of the bandits, in whatever ways, so he can have whatever’s in the box they stole for himself.
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Don't Cry For Me
By Wanda Stevens
For I have watched the morning sunrise from the top of Utah’s tallest mountain,
saw the early rays of first light paint the desert landscape with an incomparable beauty that cannot be reproduced with camera or paint brush on film or canvas.
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Two poems by Wanda Stevens
Pryor Creek Rodeo
By Wanda Stevens
I can remember back when I was young
There wasn’t many places to go,
so we would all look forward to a happy event
the Pryor creek rodeo
LEROY & WANDA AT 60 BELOW
By Wanda Stevens
We are sitting here, wrapped in all the clothes that We own
Listening to the cold winds blow
You will shiver and shake in whatever you wear
When the temperature is 60 BELOW
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Lessons of a Lifetime
By Peter R. Quigley
A hot breeze blew through the window and Abe wiped the sweat from his brow. The dusty heat of these towns never used to bother him. Oh to be young and quick again. He looked up at the fresh face staring at him and shook his head.
“What?” the kid asked and Abe snorted.
“You kids are all alike, full of vinegar.”
The face darkened slightly. “I’m twenty years old. Quit calling me a kid.”
Another snort. “Twenty? My boots are older than that.” He sighed. “What do you want, kid?”
The kid frowned, but answered. “I want to learn all of the tricks. I’ve heard you’ve been telling them.” He paused and then added, “now that you see the end of the line.”
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The Roan They Call the Outlaw
By Malcolm Davey
I’ve seen him around at the big rodeo,
Everyone loves him; he gives them a show.
He’s a rugged old roan with plenty of will,
To stay on his back would be such a thrill.
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Gold Is Where You Leave It
By H. E. McChristian
George sat back in the chair and had another sip of tea. He was sitting on
the front porch of his modest log cabin he had built half way up Baker's Mt.
As he gazed across the valley before him he was very much aware of the
two young men gently moving in the swing to his right.
"So, you'all came way up here to listen to an old man spin a tale, eh?"
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George Just Rode Horses
By H. E. McChristian
George never thought about entering the rodeo, he was too busy riding horses. The ranch was in south Texas and George never thought about using 4-wheelers, branding shutes, and for sure he wasn't worrying about the battle of the sexes! George, and those like him, just tossed a rope on, laid em down, and slapped a brand on their rump.
On the X bar T, the horses were wild, tame, broke, and unbroke. The cattle was all wild. Wide open range leads to wild eye cows. College was afar off but if a young man survived he could earn a P.H.D. in cow knowledge. Gals were kinda spare on the range where George joined the other hands to herd cattle. So you can understand his suprise when the boss brought a young thing out to the line shack and introduced her as the new hand.
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The Gamble
By Josh Williams
Men playing cards. The West blows in through Saloon doors and calloused hands move to cover over half-full glasses. Despite the sun outside the breeze still brings a chill. Skin puckers and bristles under the leather and rasping rough cotton of clothing before the heat settles back in.
One says ‘Deal’, another says ‘I wanna see that picture book shaken up real good.’ The one with the cards says ‘This ain’t no picture book, Lucas, this here’s the Devil’s Bible.’ Laughter from plains hyenas, drifted in with the wild wind.
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A Century Ago
By Harold Ratliff
As a child growing up in a town so small,
I often dreamed of being a cowboy riding tall,
In the saddle, on the range riding herd,
just me, my horse, and the songs of the bird.
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What's in a Hat
By Herold Ratliff
I’ve been wearing a hat since knee high to grandpa.
In my little world, a bare head was a flaw.
Growing up with brown felt, always on head.
I could roll the thing up, used for a pillow in bed.
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Trouble in Two Guns
By Michael D. Griffiths
The morning dawned as bright as it was cold. A lurch brought me to full consciousness, as the train continued to cross the high desert prairie of northern Arizona. The constant rattle of the wheels made me wonder how I had been able to get to sleep at all. To me they sounded like steel dentures rolling around in a rusty can. I suffered a moment of panic, when I looked over to see that my new bride Hannah was no longer in the seat next to me.
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Thirteen Turns
By Kevin Blake
Torn between sleep and awareness Wyncock awoke to the now daily pounding of his sweat soaked temples announcing yet another headache for which there was no cure. Time, too many bone jarring days and nights aboard a four legged hurricane chasing every damned tribe known to the Almighty and all the horrors that came with it plus old man booze were taking more than their pound of flesh.
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The Old Red Barn
By Daniel R Miller
When I was young and just a boy
I used to watch when riding by
The Old Red Barns in farmers fields.
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Willy Bocain
By Patty Juliano
It was the fifth of December when he rode into town,
The new powdered snow was a covering the ground.
And he was big and rough.
And he was mean and tough.
And everyone ran when they heard that the name,
Of the mysterious rider was Willy Bocain.
You can’t depend on your name.
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Mesquite and Hard Rain
By Matthew Wanniski
John Lull sat on the porch of his sun-drenched adobe looking west as the sun set behind the Davis Mountains. He finished his coffee and struck a match, holding it up in salute to the last rays of daylight as they fled the land. Then he lit a cigarette and leaned back to smoke. Night on the plateau was a lonesome thing for some. You felt like the only person left in the world. It was hard when he first arrived, but he didn’t mind it any longer. The solitude was comforting, and the night brought a degree of relief from the endless summer heat.
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Two poems and a short story by new author Scott Biddiscombe.
I think he has a future, what do you think? Let him know.
In These Wilds
By Scott Biddiscombe
Dancing embers float above
The crackling fire’s glow
While gently falling to the earth
The first glimpse of winter snow
Once More, Tomorrow
By Scott Biddiscombe
Upon these sing-song winds we ride
Across majestic plains
Beneath a million diamonds overhead
Until dawn first breaks the day
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Uncle Earle
By Dixie Elder
Found him leanin' against a fence post
head tilted back, like he was star gazin'
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Montana's Waitin' for Me
By Brendan Booher
(at age 11)
When I'm a man I'm gonna wear chaps,
I'm gonna be a cowboy, perhaps--
'Cause right now I'm thinkin'
Of where I'd like to be . . .
Montana's waitin' for me!
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Run
By Laura Finlay
When your soul cries out
And your spirit’s spent
And those mountains start callin’ your name,
Strap on your spurs
And cock your hat low,
Just grab on to her mane.
You ride that horse like you stole it.
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The Grocery Line
By Joe Owens
Standin in the grocery line
that weaved back 40 feet,
I just kept on remindin me
a person's gotta eat.
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Birth of a Gunfighter
By Joe Owens
Through bat wing doors he entered,
a boy of twenty-one.
His youthful features contradict
twin tie-downs filled with guns.
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I Still Smell The Smoke
By Delia J. Fry
I remember when on the mountain
The sign, large puffs of white smoke
The silent language of my ancestors
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The Blessing
By Delia J. Fry
Looking through the wagon's dust
I can see a lone rider approaching
A silhouette in the midst of sundown
A single blur, shimmering in the heat
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Whisky Joe
By Shirley Utting
Sitting in the corner
Of the buffalo saloon
Is an angry old man
His name is Whisky Joe
He once had a wife
And two young boys too
There cabin was burnt to the ground
But only two bodys were found
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Like Father, Like Son
By Delia J. Fry
I read your last letter home
The paper yellow with age
I can feel your desperation
In the words "Love, Murphy"
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The Aging Cowboy
By Delia J. Fry
Creaking wheels in the dust
The runaway wagon bounces
The cattle in a blind stampede
"Catch it, it's all the provisions"
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Rodeo Show
By Shirley Utting
The rocky mountain rodeo
Is on the road once more
Giveing an amazing show
As lassoing bronco boys
Twirling guns from holsters
The crowd whistle and applaud
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Cowboy
By Shirley Utting
Cowboy boots
And cowboy guns
Galloping horses
Outlaws on the run
Cowboy hats
And cowboy buckles
Fighting with fists
Getting sore knuckles
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The Seven Riders
By Mathew Pizzolato
Tom Bronson closed one eye and sighted down the barrel. This posse just wouldn't let up. They had been on his trail for a week.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He held it and squeezed the trigger.
The rifle bucked in his hands, surprising him. Crimson blossomed on the chest of the man he aimed at and the man rolled backward off his horse.
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OK all you poets out there. Samantha is looking to improve her craft and wants your feedback, but be nice, she is a lady after all.
Where is Cowboy Heaven?
By Samantha Stollar
When cowboys cross over, where is their heaven?
when all of their lives their engines were revvin.
Dark Mornings for a Rancher's Daughter
By Samantha Stollar
I'd waken to the morning sky still in the dark
to throw on my boots and then to embark
on a trek to the barn to awaken my steed
and saddle him loosely for his strong back I did need.
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Her Secret
By Francie Davis
Hello the house!
Mind if I come in out of this rain?
Sure, coffee sounds great! I'll just leave this old horse tied right here.
What a night, what a night! You folks lived here long?
Ten years, you say? Well, sure, I guess that's possible…I usually ride up to the valley the back way.
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Texas Coup
By Dan Devine
I've heard it said that running away from your problems never solved anything, but I've made my living by knowing how to get out of Dodge before the shooting starts.
The shooting was going to start soon, mark my words.
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SHOWDOWN AT CULVER CITY
By Les Williams
He reached for the pistol that hung low and was tied down on his right hip.
“If you touch that hog leg Jake, It’ll be the last thing you do. Is that what you want, to die here on this dusty wind swept street? Having these good people see you make your biggest and last mistake?”
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Thanks Annie
By Stephen Gese'
From her letter, he sensed she was not overly educated. That was all right with him, he wasn't really looking for a schoolteacher for a wife; he wasn't long on words anyway. He just wanted someone with a pleasant disposition; easygoing, who could cook, and didn't mind chipping in if he needed a hand around the place. Someone to stroll along the creek with, someone who would keep him warm at night, a partner to grow old with who wasn't afraid of Coyotes howling on a cold Wyoming night; you know, a woman, but not a sissy
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