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Western Short Stories
Tom Sheehan

​Western short stories Bio. of Tom Sheehan

Sheehan (31st Infantry, Korea 1951-52; Boston College 1952-1956) has multiple works in Rosebud, Linnet’s Wings, Serving House Journal, Literally Stories, Copperfield ReviewLiterary OrphansIndiana Voices Journal, Frontier TalesWestern Online, Faith-Hope and Fiction, EastlitRope & Wire Magazine, The Literary Yard, Green Silk Journal, Fiction on the Web, The Path, etc. He has 16 Pushcart nominations, 6 Best of the Net nominations (one winner).

Later book publications include The CowboysBeside the Broken TrailIn the Garden of Long Shadows, Between Mountain and River, Catch a Wagon to a Star, and Jock Poems and Reflections for Proper Bostonians, by Pocol Press, and Jehrico by Danse Macabre. Back Home in Saugus (a collection) is being considered, as is Beneath My Feet This Earth Slips into the Far-side of Another’s Telescope and Pages from Fallen Books. In production status is The Grand Royal Stand-off at Darby’s Creek and Other Stories at Pocol Press.

Recent releases include  Small Victories for the Soul VII, from Wilderness House Literary Review, and Alone, with the Good Graces from Pocol Press. He was Danse Macabre’s 2016 Writer-in-Residence in Las Vegas.

Here's a link to Tom's LinkedIn profile>>

After a long day ridin’, ropin’, and sometimes rustlin’, cowpokes love to stop by a local saloon to wet their whistles. Card playing, loose talking, and fighting always ensued, some in good fun and others deadly serious. In this collection of stories, author Tom Sheehan rides and relaxes with them all. You’re in the right place for rollickingly good western yarns.

Seventeen western short stories by Tom Sheehan.

Here's a link to all of Tom's books on Amazon>>

Western Short Stories by Tom Sheehan

Buck Henry, Sheriff of Godsend, Utah

Tom Sheehan

Warren “Buck” Henry was the son of a minister at a little church in Godsend, Utah, smack against a solid chunk of mountain. He was appointed as sheriff after two-years of service as a deputy. He succeeded the recently-passed sheriff who was killed by gunshot on an off-trail area by an unknown person a dozen miles outside the town limits. The killer had not yet been found, not a single clue unearthed by the new sheriff. Read the full story HERE>>

Kitten Murphy

Tom Sheehan

Kitten Murphy worked at the Three Cactus Saloon, and what else was in those walls, to earn a living to feed three kids; she had no husband to help her. The saloon was in Midville, Colorado and her small, homey cabin was near the edge of town, hers and hers alone, no debts attached to the place, built by a couple of friends from the saloon, like working customers come to her rescue. Read the full story HERE>>

The Girl with a Good Eye

Tom Sheehan

Beth Casper had a good eye, for young men, and moving targets out on the Great Plains’ spread of grass. Both Trot Norton and Laird Crocker, two local young men, handsome dudes in their own right, had found the special place in her eyes and hopes, neither one the victor over the other even if they knew or did not know they had been under Beth’s study, though they were aware of her keen awareness of all things in general. Read the full story HERE>>

The Flower that Graces the Lost Valley

Tom Sheehan

Lennie Lucks knew what he was looking for in the lost valley as wide as it was long; a flower he had seen once and should have brought back for his wife Lorraine, carrying their first child. He suddenly realized if he had picked it on first sight, so long ago, it would be hopeless to find it or a root of it now. It was like the Big Man upstairs had parceled it out as a first move to grace the lost valley in the desert; and let well enough alone. Read the full story HERE>>

Teddy the Wreck Meets Mere Alice

Tom Sheehan

He stood like a tree on the edge of the burning desert, the last of its kind, the last of its breed, not a small bit of it coveted by a single pair of eyes out of the universe of men mounted on horses, passing on to the near-infinite deserts, the Chihuahua and Mojave. He was the most desolate-looking man many men had ever seen. Read the full story HERE>>

The Kid Deputy, Whisper by Name

Tom Sheehan

The locals began to call him “Whisper” when he was about 14 years old, the swift withdrawal of both his pistols with that near-soundless noise of their slipping loose from leather. “Whisper” he became and “Whisper” he stayed until the day he died, March 11th, 1888 in Sonora, Texas. Read the full story HERE>>

The Banker’s Sly Withdrawal

Tom Sheehan

Wilmonton Gilbert Sloan IV, president of the new bank in Curry Hills, Texas, could not abide Texas, Texans, cowboys, trail riders, gunmen, sneaks, snakes and under-class snobs. In short, he promised himself he’d be a short-time Texan at best, but he was not about to leave penniless for a new start in Detroit, Chicago, or even all the way back to Boston or New York. One of those places? yes. Penniless? no. Read the full story HERE>>

The Rustlers Pad, Nevada

Tom Sheehan

The Rustler’s Pad for Jimmy the Greek’s gang was nestled into the cross-mix of trails in among small mountains of stone and freed-ways, at least on horseback, in old Nevada, and was given that name by local ranchers who had lost cattle to the Greek and his boys. Troy Norden, thief, robber, bank specialist, used the place when nobody was around, including the Mountain Man, Diamond Max Mangannis, who kept it clean with spice and nice for Jimmy and his crew; we all know there’s nothing like a home away from home. Read the full story HERE>>

Jason Judy, Cowpuncher and Sheriff to Boot

Tom Sheehan

He’d grown that way, at the catcalls, inuendoes, mere fun when he knew who was casting the joke rather than who it was on, and it generally being him. Good friends, old pals of the lot, called him Jay. Others, in mixed company, with support in the mix of listeners, called him Judy, and often said it the way it was meant, mean streaks coming with deep breaths, saloon stuff at its zenith. Read the full story HERE>>

The Trail on Broken Ridge

Tom Sheehan

Gus Gannon had been on the trail of a murder suspect for more than two weeks, and found himself on a ledge of a cliff-face near tall as the heavens, swearing to himself that the sun never found some parts of the cliff which rose on the steepest rise he had ever ascended. At least he found himself in a steady sense of shadow if anything else, and the sad monotony of silence. Read the full story HERE>>

The Blue-eyed Lady and London Bob the Gunner

Tom Sheehan

With his pistols, he was quicker than all Hell broke loose, London Bob, the Gunner, and he was a local guru of stormy portions, able to determine the weather almost to the minute, which way it would come, which way it would go, when it would turn. As he ducked into a cave he was fully aware of between Hilton Town and Newmark, a ready-made escape from the foulest weather, where he had weathered out earlier storms, he caught the dimmest sight of a nearby rider, and the rider’s actions told London Bob he was looking at a woman suddenly in distress. Read the full story HERE>>

The Wegner Posse

Tom Sheehan

Two riders, in pre-darkness, rode into Bushel Bog, Arizona, and strode into The Salty Cracker Saloon, They were obviously cattlemen looking for work, but for a drink first, so it seemed, until one of them asked the bartender if there was a local sheriff and if he was in the room. Read the full story HERE>>

The Cook Gets His Turn

Tom Sheehan

For the second time this day and for the second day in a row, he looked out the window of the A&P Railroad Lines dining car kitchen in the middle of grass running for endless miles and saw the herd of cattle and the drovers dashing about on horseback, those gallant riders that had drawn him all the way from Italy, half a turn around the world. Read the full story HERE>>

The Born Gunman, Kris Kiely, Killer

Tom Sheehan

At ten years of his calendar, Kris Kiely took down 4 of 5 Kennadi bottles at his uncle George’s directions, the loan of the handgun a present for his birthday. The boy showed so much talent with twin pistols presented on his twelfth birthday, Uncle George decided the boy would be a lawman or a gunman based on a pure accident, so he kept alert. His eyes open for any sign. Read the full story HERE>>

Justin Weaverlake and His Western Worries

Tom Sheehan

“Dang it, horses, just keep going,” Weaverlake yelled at his wagon horses in the middle of the afternoon, the sun beating down on them like a steamy iron, sweat running on his arms and chest, and the back of his neck like he was doing the hauling himself. He looked around to see if anybody else was listening to him or apt to listen. They were all too busy in the heat to pay him any mind. Read the full story HERE>>

Read more western short stories by Tom Sheehan in the <<Ranch Romance>> and the <<Side Trail>> sections