In This Issue
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Apache Gold, Part 3 of 3
by Kenneth Newton
"Two sets o' tracks, Cap'n, headin off to the southwest," Sgt. Gage said. "One set
deeper'n the other, probl'y a horseman an a pack animal that ain't packin much.
Beats me how I never hit him, all the lead I put into that hill."
"Even your Gatling gun won't shoot through solid rock," Drake replied. "I'm going to
follow that trail and see who I find, Sergeant. Whether you and the boys come along
is up to you. I've got no right to order you anywhere."
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And Hell Came With Him, Part 1 of 2
by Larry Payne
Lightning streaked the darkened sky above the solemn group around the grave. The Preacher, standing
at the head of the grave, read passages from his worn bible as four men, dressed in black suits,
grasped the ends of the two ropes stretched under both ends of the wooden coffin. Slowly, they moved
the coffin over the open grave and began to lower it.
A woman's white-gloved hand appeared from the coffin, sliding the lid to the side. She reached out to
the group above.
"WIL, NO. DON'T LET ME GO."
* * *
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The Undertakers
by Sandra Seamans
Smitty Jones spotted the vultures just outside of Silver City. Black shadows circling high in
the sky, with a crowd of feathered undertakers waiting their turn in the branches of a gnarled
oak tree. Others perched on the shoulders of a cowboy dangling at the end of a rope, his body
swaying with every savage peck.
"Petey Sway," he muttered. "You never did know how to keep your neck tucked in when trouble
was sniffing round your back trail. I'm gonna miss you, old friend."
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Virtue's Shootout: A Writers' Workshop Story
by Edward Downie
"Surely you don't imagine," said the blacksmith, as he gazed fixedly at the heaving bosom of
the apprehensive young woman standing before him, "that the city fathers brought you all the
way from Boston to Lost Hope Gulch, Texas just to be a schoolmarm. Surely you understood that
other things would be required of a fetching damsel like yourself in a one-hoss town like this one."
"I . . . I suppose I could sing and dance a little," Miss Adelaide allowed, somewhat hesitantly.
"Singing and dancing are fine, but actually, we had something else in mind for you."
Estelle: Stop!
Oscar: What's the matter?
Blanche: You know very well that erotic stories are not permitted in workshop.
Shirley: Erotic or worse.
Burt: Aw, c'mon, let Oscar finish his story.
Montrose: Yes, let's hear the story. We can't conclude the story is erotic before we've heard it.
Jerome: Yeah.
Montrose: Go on, Oscar.
"That's a mighty pretty ankle you have, my dear," the burly smith said as he snatched with
coal-blackened fingers at the hem of her petticoat. "Now let's see what the rest of that
limb looks like."
Shirley: That's it! You can stop right there.
Blanche: We'll have no more, Oscar, of your disgusting stories that objectify women.
Oscar: I don't know what you mean. This is a story about romance on the frontier.
Estelle: Okay, then you won't mind if the story continues in this manner:
Deacon Spradlin, stepped through the doorway. "Unhand that maiden, you vile reptile!" he
said in a righteous tone.
Oscar: Okay, but then:
"I don't know that I will," said the smithy, who stood two feet taller and one-hundred pounds
heftier than the churchman. "I'm conducting Miss Adelaide's employment interview right now."
Blanche: Okay, but then:
"You haven't forgotten, I trust," said the deacon, "that the church holds the mortgage on your shop,
your forge, and your horseshoe supply."
Oscar: Okay, but then:
"Curse you, Spradlin, for interfering with city business! You haven't heard the last of this, you dog,"
declared Vulcan's protégé before he stalked off to contemplate a horrendous revenge.
Shirley: Okay, but then:
"Oh, thank you, Deacon, for rescuing me from a fate far worse than death," Miss Adelaide asserted demurely.
"Far, far worse, for that wicked man clearly had designs upon my virtue."
Oscar: Okay, but then:
Miss Adelaide continued, "For as the Good Book tells us, he who steals my sterling reputation steals trash,
but one who takes my purse, er . . . or something like that."
Amy: Okay, but then:
"'Twas a mere nothing, my dear," said the deacon. "Any true gentleman would have protected your honor as I
did. Now you must accompany me back to the parsonage, where my sister Esmeralda will serve us tea. You'll
be quite safe at the parsonage."
Oscar: Okay, but then:
Meanwhile, the man of fire and steel repaired to the saloon where he announced, to various interested parties,
a diminution in the ranks of potential entertainers--and, more importantly, in the range of performances to be
given. The news provoked loud grumbling.
"This is what happens when religionists gain a toe-hold," an angry man exclaimed. "So let's run them out of town!"
Estelle: Okay, but then:
When they arrived at the parsonage, Deacon Spradlin said, "Look who I've brought home to tea, my darling sister.
It's Miss Adelaide from the Lost Hope Academy."
Oscar: Okay, but then:
"I'll start warming the tar," said the man of fierce mien. "Who has a chicken coop?"
Blanche: Okay, but then:
"Dear, dear Miss Adelaide! How I've looked forward to this meeting!" said the beautiful Esmeralda. "You must help
me prepare the tea. I have some jalapeño preserves in the pantry. It'll be glorious on the crumpets.
Perhaps you can reach the top shelf, as you're a little taller than I."
Oscar: Okay, but then:
As the teacher stood on tiptoe and reached to the back of the top shelf in the dimly-lighted pantry, Esmeralda
came up behind her, clasped her waist firmly, buried her face in Miss Adelaide's abundant chestnut locks, and
whispered, "You're all the crumpet I need, my darling."
"Yow!" said Miss Adelaide, turning around.
"Don't be frightened, my love. I mean you no harm." Esmeralda planted kisses all over her visitor's face. "I only
seek a little understanding and tenderness--qualities in short supply in this macho hell-hole." She wiped away a tear.
Amy: Stop!
Oscar: What's wrong?
Blanche: You're not trying to slip in a little lezzie erotica, are you?
Oscar: I don't understand. The women are only expressing a small affection for one another. Anyhow:
"What's that smell?" asked Deacon Spradlin. "Is someone re-roofing the house?"
"No," replied his sister, "but there's mule-drawn wagon out front bearing a cauldron of dark, odoriferous material."
Amy: Okay, but then:
"Upon occasion," opined the churchman, as he edged toward the door, "religion must beat a tactical retreat to
regroup and marshal strength before returning renewed to wage war against the godless."
Oscar: Okay, but then:
A dozen rude rustics swarmed into the house. "There he is," said the blacksmith, pointing at the deacon. "Get
him, take him out to the wagon, and dunk him in the tar."
"We forgot the feathers," one man observed.
"We'll get them later."
The men took the deacon by his arms and legs, swung him back and forth several times, and with a mighty heave
launched him toward the tar pot.
Estelle: Okay, but then:
The deacon flew up and over in the prescribed parabolic arc familiar to physics students, but when he struck
the surface of the molten tar, he bounced. Then he stood up, walked to the far side of the vat, hopped down,
and took off running.
Blanche: It was a miracle!
Oscar: Okay, but then:
Miss Adelaide sidled over to the blacksmith, and said, "Actually I'd like to supplement my meager teaching
salary by moonlighting in the Lost Hope Entertainment Emporium. I played hard-to-get just to pique the interest
of the community--and yours, you sexy rascal."
The End
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