Western short stories Bio. of Bill Henderson
Weaned on Zane Grey and Louis L'Amour, Bill Henderson has spent most of his adult life in his beloved Arizona deserts and mountains.
A retired construction superintendent, he now has time to pursue his love of writing, prospecting, and prowling ghost towns.
With one collection of western short stories under his belt, he is now writing his first full length western novel due out this winter.
Bill writes under the name of Will Starr. Find out more about Bill with the links below..
Her mother had always called a new moon, “God’s fingernail”, and Annie herself loved a night sky, especially the spectacular night sky seen from her cabin high on the Mogollon Rim.
Tim had been gone for nearly a year now, and she held out no hope that he would ever return. He was a good humored sort, and handsome enough, but not cut out to be a husband and father. Tim loved a good time, and he loved the saloon life, but he cared little for hard work. He had left promising to find a job in Show Low, and that was the last time she had seen him. Davy was almost three now, and did not seem to remember his father...Read more of Annie's Lonesome>>
Bonny Sue Anderson
If I’d gone left instead of right, none of this would have happened. The easy looking trail to the left was well worn from game, cattle, and riders, so being my father’s son, I took the faint trail to the right. Pa always said a man who takes the easy way will never amount to much, although looking back on it, I’m not sure he was talking about trails.
My big gray liked to see new country, but he wasn’t all that happy about the trail to the right because it was rocky and sloped upward. He had seen the long green valley the trail to the left promised, so he snorted his displeasure at my curiosity. I ignored him, and he reluctantly gave in. It was early morning...Read more of Bonny Sue Anderson>>
“Oh for Heaven’s sake!”
Millie Ferguson placed her knitting in her lap as she gazed out the window. Hattie Winnow placed her own knitting on the table beside her chair and struggled to her feet to see what was transpiring. She too peered out the window at the town’s main street, but saw nothing.
“What, pray tell, is out there that provoked you to call upon Heaven, Millie?”
Hattie and Millie were sisters. Hattie was the widow of Clarence Winnow, and Millie was a spinster. The house on Main Street had been in the Ferguson family for years, but there were no more heirs, so it had been willed to the town to serve as a library when the sisters passed on. But since they were both in their early forties, neither sister was in any hurry. The books could wait.