Full Disclosure: I apologize in advance for putting this disclosure in your face. The new FTC regulations require it. Since 2006, the Rope and Wire website has been promoting western authors. This site also promotes the books written by these authors. The books are linked to the appropriate Amazon page. If you click on the link, As an Amazon Associate I'll earn a small commission from qualifying purchases.This does NOT add to the cost of your purchase. It DOES help to keep this site up and running.
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.
The Kidnapping at Tablewood
Jessica Perkins, 12-year-old daughter of Sheriff Max Perkins, Tablewood. Texas, did not show up for supper. Her mother sent an older son, Carl, 15, down to the sheriff’s office in the main street of the town to tell Jessica’s father that she was late for the first time ever. An hour later, his daughter still not having shown up, the sheriff had a deep suspicion he could not shake. Read the full story HERE>>
Abner “Fuzzy” Beacon, Trailhand
The old, long-bearded rider, still half asleep in the saddle, his mind gently occupied with the graces of nature yet at hand for him in his 7th decade, came up out of a shallow depression to see a grown man pummeling a lad half his own size at a make-shift campsite. Infuriated, jamming home his spurs, Fuzzy Beacon sped across the grassland, his hand on one pistol as if murder, in just one of his veins, was screaming for an outlet. Read the full story HERE>>
Big in the Saddle
Wilhelm “Hog” Lasky was the biggest, and fattest, man on the Ray Donner spread, The Cue Ball Two (CB2) and it was usually said, uttered or thought each day, “Whoa be the horse that bears Hog this day.”
Donner hired him the day he saw Hog jump into the river and rescue his young son, Carson, swept off his horse at a crossing. Read the full story HERE>>
Burt Kentworth, Lawman
When Sheriff Burt Kentworth came to the top of the ridge and looked down into the low depression, he saw a band of men gathered in discussion. He immediately placed his rifle across his saddle so that it was visible on both sides of him, letting folks know he was well-armed, he was curious, he was going to check out the group that looked to be idle except for talk, no cattle in sight, no cook’s wagon in the area, no other formality of an organization .. except, in his mind, “up to no good.” Read the full story HERE>>
The Dead Don’t Lie
Sheriff Zeke Walters, out of Wilson Hollow, Nevada, came upon the body of a middle-aged man, hatless, boots gone, weapons belt gone, but the body, after a fashion, was still warm. He attributed some of that false liveliness to the scorching sun. The situation made him, from long experience in the world of men, roll the body over and there, in the middle of the man’s back, plumb smack between the shoulders, was a bullet hole, like a dead-square shot on the man just before he died from that shot. Read the full story HERE>>
A Saddle in the Desert
He was in the sparse land between shifting sands of the great desert and the last tree bearing green when he saw the vultures descending from their high flight. Breward Chandler, “Brew” to friends back in the mountains where breathing was much easier than here in the midst of little life, sat bareback on an Indian pony he had freed from a natural corral behind a blow-down. Chandler had learned that the horse would obey pulls on his mane and in this manner he had escaped from sure capture by heading into the desert, with his pistols loaded and a lariat and a canteen he had grabbed on the run. Read the full story HERE>>
The Welsh Gunner (Mae Gynnwr Cymru)
"Hey, Laddie, mynd i ffwrdd ar y llong i America. Dweud hwyl fawr, yn awr yn gwneud yn dda.”
What Dafydd Craddock’s Welsh grandfather said was, “Hey, Laddie, go off on that ship to America. Say goodbye, now do well.” Dafydd Craddock was 15 years old at the time. His grandfather continued, “And I heard word from her uncle who says your favored Catryn Davies will be going soon, to a place over there called Arizona, a western territory of the country, to live with her other uncle. You’re bound to meet her. America must be a country as small as our own.” Read the full story HERE>>
Bill Dudley Do-Good, Dew-Guide Sheriff of Taxico
West Texas was going bone dry, and the first to show it were the beeves and the horses, their inert bones in short order picked clean of every edible bite by eagles and sundry hard-eating and hard-hunting birds, often as big as the dead they picked on, them throwing even bigger and darker shadows over the land. Read the full story HERE>>
In the Shadow of the Hill
“Juice Jorgen” as he already had come to be called by the barkeep and saloon owner, Jugs Johnson, arrived dead-drunk in early morning, the sun rising over the near hilltop toward a day of heat, and other myriad surprises that often wake up little towns, or keeps them awake long after darkness makes its entry into the township of Killacut, near the current border between Texas and Mexico. Read the full story HERE>>
The Election, by Decree
In the Bronco Buster Saloon, owner, sweeper, pourer Jackson “Jade” Henrick realized he knew the name of every customer at the bar or sitting at one of the tables. Most of them he liked, could side with them on points of view, laugh at the same jokes, go into battle also with most of them, sure heroes in the mix.
One of his customers did not fit that mold;... Read the full story HERE>>
The Lost Rider of the Pecos Run
Western buffs, historians, story tellers, etc., continue to this day to promote the unfinished story, and highly mysterious surroundings, of the Lost Pony Express rider to leave Pecos, Texas on his last ride of the day, and of his life, if disappearance is allowed to enter the argument. Read the full story HERE>>
The Lone Retreat
Enoch “Nick” Branden heard the thump of a bullet hit the tree beside him before he heard the gunshot echo from across the valley floor. He had decided he’d stay inside his small cabin a day or two, away from the rest of the world, before he went hunting for the sniper. The cabin, built by him in three months of hard labor, could take on a fusillade of gunfire if need be, especially long-range. Read the full story HERE>>
Micah Thorsen and Mud Harris
On the peak of a grassy brow, his body stiffened as he waited a shot. It didn’t come, didn’t tear the night apart, or him. “We’ll never know, Torby,” he said, the silence measuring miles as well as, catastrophes, luck also figuring its way into realization. It summed up the argument for him that Mud Harris would do anything to stay alive; Mud Harris on the loose was a terror to any other living thing. Read the full story HERE>>
The Buffalo Soldiers
First Lieutenant Paul Avery, West Point, 1872, then in 1875 part of the 10th Cavalry Regiment, regularly stationed at Fort Carson in Colorado, heard several men talking outside his tent... Read the full story HERE>>
West of East Texas
It happened in the dust of a small Texas town called Impetus Two, which happened to hang around long enough to gather fame as the Dueling Capital of the West for those folks come from the East. So far in this yarn of ours, eleven gents of various levels of drawing to the death had drawn and lost, and eleven, of course, went on their infamous ways, which included two of them who came back for another turn and didn’t make it past the second draw, but drew a nice shady spot on the side of the hilly burial grounds, but not quite to the top of the hill. Read the full story HERE>>