WESTERN WEDNESDAY STORY CHALLENGE

(OK - it's still officially Tuesday but as I'm about to leave for a night shoot and will be unable to post until mid afternoon, I thought it better to bring this forward)


Asked to give a little bio Joseph West said, "Joseph A. West has written 27 Western novels, including his GUNSMOKE series with James Arness. During his checkered career, he has been a law enforcement officer, newspaper reporter, polo player, stock car driver, mighty hunter and beer enthusiast."

The Story with no Name is a free form western, written in parts by different writers. Joseph pushes the story forward with this, part 7. But before you read it check out the previous entries HERE. The idea is that the first person who sticks his hand up, so to speak, in the comments section can take a go at continuing the story next Wednesday. Each writer has around 500 words to carry things forward...


AND SO PART 7 BY JOSEPH A. WEST

“It’s been a long time, Lola,” Walt said. He reopened the old wound. “Since you ran out on me in New Orleans.”

The woman smiled, white teeth in a pink mouth. “A gambler and a whore ain’t exactly a match made in heaven, Walt.”

“What did you want from me?”

“More.”

Lola read the question on Walt’s face. She didn’t answer it. Not directly.

“I’m getting older, Walt. My tits and ass are sagging and I discover a new line in my face every morning. More than ever, I need what I tried to find with you, a man to stand by me, steady like, and give me his support.”

She shrugged. “Either that or I end up a dollar-a-bang slut on a hog ranch.”

“You’ve found that man, Lola?” Walt asked.

A rising wind off the Mohawk Mountains to the east rattled the wood shingles on the jail roof and somewhere a screen door slammed open and shut.

Defiance in her eyes, Lola said, “Yes I have. His name is Zack Roden.”

Walt felt like he’d been slapped.

“Roden is nothing but a two-bit killer-for-hire. He murdered Silas Bartlett, Lola. Hell, you recollect ol’ Silas.”

The woman nodded. “He wasn’t much.”

“And he tried to kill me,” Walt said, as though he hadn’t heard.

You! Shut your goddamned trap!”

Town marshal Heck Stryker, a big-bellied man with purple cheeks and pig eyes, crossed the cell floor and thudded a kick into Walt’s cot.

“Mr. Roden told us what happened. Him and his men saw it all. Bartlett told you where to find the big treasure boat, then you killed him to keep his mouth shut. During your getaway, you killed one of Mr. Roden’s men, then you tried to murder Mr. Roden himself in town tonight.”

“Why did Roden run, Stryker?’

“Because you scared him. You’re as guilty as hell, Arnside, and I aim to hang you.”

“Walt, it doesn’t have to happen this way, Lola said. “Zack is well-respected in this town, Walt. He can save you.”

“What does he want in return, Lola?”

“Tell him where he can find the big boat.”

“Go to hell,” Walt said.

“Want me to beat it out of him, Miss Lola?” Stryker asked.

The woman shook her head. “No, not now.” She glanced at the big lawman. “Maybe later.”

*****

The cell smelled of piss and stale vomit and the pain in Walt’s belly was a living thing that clawed at him.

He stared at the cobwebbed ceiling, his mind working.

There was no big boat. A Spanish galleon hadn’t been left high and dry by Noah’s flood, and nobody had dragged it…wherever they’d dragged it.

Unless…

Suppose it was an itty-bitty boat?

Maybe a golden galleon the old Spanish men had made for their king. Apaches could have stolen it and stashed it somewhere.

A boat like that could be worth a fortune, and the clue to its whereabouts could still be in Bartlett’s private rail car.

Despite his pain, Walt sat up. He would need help to find out.

“Stryker!”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I want to make you rich,” Walt yelled.

He had baited his hook. Now, could he catch a purple-jowled pig?

THE WILD BUNCH WESTERN WEDNESDAY STORY CHALLENGE

This story was started off by Ian Parnham and each Wednesday a different author takes over and gives us around 500 words before leaving the story open for some other poor soul to continue. This is part five and the previous sections can be found.

HERE
HERE
HERE
HERE

Whoever wants to continue the tale, becoming part of the Wednesday Wild Bunch, then please say so in the comment section and take up the thread, posting it next Wednesday and remember to link to the previous posts - It won't make much sense if you don't.


And so without further preamble here's part five.....

Arnside, back against the wall, looked out of the smashed window, hoping to spot Zack Rodin among the riders but a slug tore into the window frame, splintering wood and sending him once again ducking for cover.

‘We’re sitting ducks.’ Arnside yelled and turned to look at Bartlett but his old friend had succumbed to the gut wound. He lay there, a curious, contented look upon his face. Arnside crawled across the floor and made his way to the rear of the private car.

He groaned as he stood upright and opened the door. The train was still chugging alone, a few miles per hour at the most, the engine yet to build up pressure and get the wheels turning. He jumped down onto the ground and hugging the wall of the private car he made his way behind the train. He suddenly felt his age. He was in the autumn of his life and as he cautiously made his way to the rear of the train he felt November with each step.

The train started to pick up speed and Arnside cursed. The damn thing was providing his only cover and he fell to the ground, laying flat, trying to make himself invisible.

Luck was with him and he grinned as he saw the riders chasing after the train, which was now picking up considerable speed and easily outdistancing them. He lay there until both train and riders had vanished into the distance and then and only then did he get to his feet. He scanned the desert landscape, knowing that he had gotten at least one of the riders. At first he didn’t see anything but then perhaps three hundred yards away he spotted the crumpled figure of what could only be a man.

There was no sign of the riders returning even though they must have given up their pursuit of the train by now and Arnside withdrew his .45 and he made his way towards the fallen man, all the while his eyes scanned the horizon for the return on the riders.

He reached the man and after a final look around, spotting the the fallen man’s horse in the far distance, he knelt and examined the dead man. It had been a good shot that had brought him down – without aim, slung in his general direction, the slug had struck home right between the eyes and exited from the rear his of head, taking a sizeable chunk of skull with. A sponge of gore clung to a nearby rock.

Won’t take long for the flies to get at him, Arnside thought and wiped his brow. He removed the man’s rig and slung it one side and then went into each of the man’s pockets. There was nothing to identify the man but he did find three bucks and a tobacco pouch.

Arnside sat back with the makings and quickly put together a quirly. He sucked it to life and allowed the smoke to escape between his teeth while he regained some breath.

God he felt old.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Arnside asked the dead man and then raised a hand as if fending off any reply.

He thought about Bartlett. What was it the man had wanted to tell him? What was it he had discovered behind the painting he spoke of? He had mentioned a treasure ship so Arnside figured a map would come into it somewhere. Was that what the armed riders had been after? A map? A map leading to a ship filled with treasure?

He got to his feet and looked across the desert to the dead man’s horse. There was nothing for it; he would have to trail the riders if he was to find out what all this was about. Suddenly he didn’t feel so old and he started out across the desert to the waiting horse….

So whoever wants to continue this rambling piece then claim your place in the comments section of this blog - first comes...first served.

coming up - on Western Wednesday

Tomorrow on The Archive we will have part five of the short story challenge - this week it's yours truly, Yep I'm in Jack Martin mode for the continuation of the story started by Ian Parnham. Check out parts one to four - ONE TWO THREE FOUR and then come back tomorrow for part Five.

Also tomorrow I'll be the guest blogger over on Howard Hopkins' Dark bits blog. Yep I've seized control in my bid for domination of the Wild West Web.


There's also an interview with myself in Jack Martin mode coming up over on....well, I'll point you to this one when it goes live.

And of course there's the small matter of having to write a book.