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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 Review, Literary Orphans, Indiana Voices Journal, Frontier Tales, Western Online, Faith-Hope and Fiction, Eastlit, Rope & 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 Cowboys, Beside the Broken Trail, In 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.
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.
Dagger Drune, Knife Warrior
From the moment Dagger Drune picked up a knife off the table in the small cabin on the side of Mount Dibble, in Montana, when he was just past three years old, his father guided knife after knife into and out of his hands, made him so apt at handling sharp objects, he became an expert in their use, for any and all purposes, in a closed fist or through the air at a formidable target, for food or to injure an enemy at combat. Read the full story HERE>>
Butch Charleton, Suspect
His elbows hit the bar top as he said, “One slug for each hand, Jake, and keep the jug handy. I just heard the sheriff’s looking for me.”
“Here’s your two and good luck on the other thing,” Jake said as he placed the drinks near at hand. “Why’s Coston looking for you?” Read the full story HERE>>
The Paint Lady, Beth Dolliver
She rolled around Texas with a wagon carrying at times a dozen cans of a pale green paint, and an entourage of a few guards with noted gun skills. She openly declared them to a man as being “my working crew if ever needed, but ladies of this fair land will be forever thankful for stepping into the work breech on their own. There’s nothing like a lady’s kitchen being a lady’s kitchen, but don’t paint the beams, they belong to the menfolk, as you can imagine.” Read the full story HERE>>
Tipper Thomas, Big Spender
“He walks like he’s drunk.” That’s what the folks in used to say about Paulie Thomas around Waco way, in the small town of Wiscott, until the day came when his mine in far-off Montana, run for ages by his nephew, Hubert Cawling, came up with a grand strike, a boomer of a strike, money flowing back to him.as ingots big as his fist. Read the full story HERE>>
Costa Tailcoat’s Breakout from Jail
The Mitonville sheriff, George Hamlin, big, ugly as sin, torrent for a voice, slapped Costa Tailcoat on the back of his neck and shoved him into the only empty cell with a rough push, a notice that Saturday night was getting near the end, the town about to close its doors, and the sheriff eager to get at his sleep. Another Saturday night closing shop. Read the full story HERE>>
Timber’s My Name, Lumber’s My Game
Brockton “Timber” Wakefield had a stock phrase at introductions, it being “Timber’s my name and lumber’s my game,” and he rang it like a bell in a strong wind, making sure his status and doings were well-advertised: It was the way he made his money, paid for his habits, kept his family on an even keel, ad infinitum, even out there in the uproarious west of Colorado, 1876, the war long-gone down the trail, enterprise at work, work at demand. Read the full story HERE>>
Reno Wilson, Horse Wrangler
Reno Wilson was, in Mexican language, a caballerango groom, a ranch hand who takes care of the saddle horses. One who knew his place on the ranch and his duties, and as good as any employee boss Harley Bates had hired flat-out on their first meeting, trusting in his observation and quick-study of any man in a saloon surrounding, knowing the why’s and when’s and what’s behind a new character, coming under his capacities as ranch boss in the heart of Texas, near the small town of Bootstrap, Texas. Read the full story HERE>>
Blaze Barkley and a Dead Horse
The day started off like a patient set free of a doctor’s office, pain done and gone, the sun sliding across the Great Plains of Texas, like fleeing Mexico, all of it coming at once, when Blaze Barkley saw the dead horse, nothing around it moving, not even an animal chewer or a hungry bird having folded its wings for the respite. Read the full story HERE>>
Trail Ends at the Palisade and the Call of the Loon
Beau Ranklin hung his reins in front of the First Drink Free Saloon in a lower corner of Montana, and smiled as his eyes fell across smaller printing below the main sign, almost saying, with tongue in cheek, “As long as you stay for two or more.” Read the full story HERE>>
The Back of the Rose Saloon
The stranger strolled into the Back of the Rose Saloon in Colorado’s Curbville City, expecting to see a few pals, old riding companions, a couple of smiling faces. It was not much different than a morgue, the cool reception as though it was just meant for him, just been cooling its heels and spurs waiting him, an hombre of the saddle. Read the full story HERE>>
Will Winston and the Cherokee Chief
He roamed a good deal in all parts of Oklahoma, young as he was, traded with Cherokees when he had a chance, and when necessary, friendly as all get-out, trusty blue eyes marking his smile, Will Winston was a favorite among many Oakie denizens. Read the full story HERE>>
The Kid from Nowhere
He came out of the evening dusk, like a phantom in a hurry, after hearing screams, gunshots, earth air filled with an overflow of terror, people pain, people disdain, the no-good edge of life on the quick side, though cooking food odors had made a catch of someone else passing by, for its flavor caught him too. Read the full story HERE>>
Fourth of July Homecoming
Scott’s Mill had given off odd sounds since the day it closed down.
Now it gave off a sense of passage.
All the way back to the last Fourth of July the boys had saved a cache of fireworks, the three pals, Snag and Chris and Charlie B, all twelve years old within three days of each other. "Pals to the end,"... Read the full story HERE>>
Stretch Mulligan and the Calaboose
Some folks around Dimstalk, Texas said Stretch Mulligan sat ten-foot tall on horseback, and spread out only four-foot on a short cot in the Dimstalk jail, not a very big place to begin with, and smaller the longer you stayed, especially in the jail, with no company besides Sheriff Burt Conley, asleep and half-awake according to the time of day. Other folks said that when Stretch yelled “Whoa,” to his horse, that horse damned well better stop in his tracks. Read the full story HERE>>
The Bank Robbery at Calico Falls
The cowboy customer who just entered the Calico Falls Bank with a mask on half his face, had leveled his gun at the chief teller, with three other customers in the bank, all alert to most of what was going on: a bank robbery right there in front of them, the gun real, the voice harsh, death in the mix someplace, for sure. Read the full story HERE>>