Once Upon a Sixgun

By Pro Se Press

The Wild West and Fairy Tale Land... Two places where anything is possible! From penny dreadfuls turning Billy the Kid into a hero to stories of Big Bad Wolves eating Grandmothers. Pro Se Productions asks the question...what if that fictional land of creatures and beasties and that very real time in American history were one and the same place? ONCE UPON A SIXGUN is the answer to that question! Join Authors Lee Houston, Jr., Nikki Nelson-Hicks, Mark Gelineau, and Joseph King as they saddle up and, with a little fairy dust and luck, take you on adventures never before imagined! Two of the most popular genres ever come together in rollicking adventure yarns that would curl a cowpoke’s mustache in any Enchanted forest! Wild Mustangs and Magic Wands! Witches and Outlaws! The Good, the Bad, and the Fairy Tale! All of that and more awaits in ONCE UPON A SIXGUN from Pro Se Productions!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Apr 11, 2014

Pro Se Press

Based in Batesville, Arkansas, Pro Se Productions has become a leader on the cutting edge of New Pulp Fiction in a very short time.Pulp Fiction, known by many names and identified as being action/adventure, fast paced, hero versus villain, over the top characters and tight, yet extravagant plots, is experiencing a resurgence like never before. And Pro Se Press is a major part of the revival, one of the reasons that New Pulp is growing by leaps and bounds.

Book preview

ONCE UPON A SIXGUN

Copyright © 2014 Pro Se Productions

Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

The stories in this publication are fictional. All of the characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

Wolf Hunt copyright © 2014 Lee Houston, Jr.

Allan Pinkerton and the Problem at Gruff Springs copyright © 2014 Nikki Nelson-Hicks

A Little Southern Hospitality copyright © 2014 Mark Gelineau & Joseph King

TABLE OF CONTENTS

WOLF HUNT

By Lee Houston, Jr.

ALLAN PINKERTON AND THE PROBLEM AT GRUFF SPRINGS

By Nikki Nelson-Hicks

A LITTLE SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY

By Mark Gelineau and Joseph King

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

WOLF HUNT

By Lee Houston, Junior

The wooded trail, like the weather, was cold; but Sheriff William ‘Bat’ Masterson was determined to capture the wanted felon he was tracking. The accumulated snowfall was barely above his horse’s fetlocks; yet the constant, bitter wind swirling the fine particles around made travel and reading the path signs difficult. Masterson readjusted his bandana to cover his mouth and nose better while lowering the brim of his plainsman hat against the weather as he scanned the ground for any indication of his quarry.

There were indentations in the thick, powdery ground cover that proved something had passed this way. However, he could not swear to exactly who or what made this trail under the present circumstances.

The only reason the dedicated lawman was out on a day like this was to arrest the criminal known only as El Lobo. The Wolf, as the man’s name translated into English, was a mean hombre wanted for numerous crimes in the more hospitable climates south of Colorado, but now had trespassed into his jurisdiction.

The wanted poster Virgil Earp had on the outlaw back in Tombstone cited multiple counts of robbery and murder, along with a description of the hunted man—and it also mentioned his weird habit of howling like his namesake whenever the mood struck him. Yet why The Wolf was so far up North now, instead of going back across the border into Mexico where the law unfortunately could not touch him, remained a mystery.

But Masterson knew why he had come to Colorado. The thrill of dealing faro for Wyatt Earp at the Oriental Saloon was dying. Craving a new challenge, Bat jumped at the chance to resume his lawman career by becoming the Sheriff of Creede, Colorado when the opportunity arose, leaving the Arizona Territory with Earp’s blessing.

It wasn’t until weeks after settling in to his new job that Bat heard a rumor concerning a gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Based upon what little knowledge of the event that old prospector he met at the saloon last month had, the Earps and justice were triumphant, but at what cost? He would like to have been there to back them up because, had he known the confrontation was in the wind, Masterson would not have left Tombstone when he did.

Reading the trail through the thick forest, Bat noted every once in a while that the impressions in the snow weren’t quite as deep as they should be for a man on horseback passing through in a hurry. Likely because of the constant, freezing wind that threatened to whip through Masterson’s winter woolies like a hot knife through butter. It was brutal enough that he’d missed a side trail The Wolf had taken a few miles back. Instead of heading south toward Trinidad, Colorado as Bat figured he would; the outlaw had decided to go northward toward South Pueblo. But, despite the weather, it took less than a quarter mile for the Sheriff to realize his mistake and double back, for that trail looked like it hadn’t been ridden in days.

Like the weather, it had been a hellacious morning. The overnight snowfall had been just coming to an end as the wind started picking up when the stranger arrived in Creede. Of course any new face in town would have drawn attention, but this one even more so.

The eye-witness accounts all agreed he looked mean. So mean that it would have come as no surprise to learn that his own mother had abandoned the man at birth. He had long, dirty black hair that matched a full, shabby beard revealing very little of the man’s facial features; and what was visible appeared far from friendly. He never once smiled, and what could be seen of his mouth seemed to be in a permanent snarl, as if ready to snap at anyone who came too close to him.

No one thought much of the fact that the Mexican hombre wore a big, weather beaten sugar-loaf sombrero and an oversized poncho that came down to his knees and hid most of his large body. After all, there was still a strong Hispanic influence upon the land in this region and all were welcomed.

The stranger’s only stop was the general store. Despite his height and the thick soled, vaquero style boots he wore, the man didn’t have to duck to enter, but the top of the door frame did knock his hat off. All the customers said that once inside his eyes narrowed, as if sizing up everyone to judge how much of a threat they might be. On such a cold winter’s day, no one was in much of a hurry to conclude their business and leave the warmth of the big pot-bellied stove that heated the store, but the stranger only stayed long enough to rob the place of travel supplies and everybody’s cash.

By all accounts, the shopkeeper had fully cooperated with the bandit in hopes he would leave quickly and peacefully. However The Wolf still shot him before departing, baying madly at an unseen moon as he flung himself back into the saddle of some high-bred flea bitten gray stud and rode off defiantly, disappearing into the swirling snow.

Masterson wasn’t sure he had heard a gunshot through the thick brick walls of his office, but he definitely had heard that weird, somewhat inhuman noise as El Lobo rode past the town jail. Once the commotion started, the Sheriff had cautiously stepped outside to investigate, gun drawn and ready for anything. At that point, The Wolf was already fading from sight on his way out of town. One of the shopkeeper’s customers was running over to fetch him, while another raced to get the town doctor. Bat paused only long enough to learn that the injured man would survive, and to gather what supplies he might need before pursuing the outlaw. It was while on the trail that he figured out exactly who he was after and the wind started getting worse.

Thankfully, the brown paint cow pony Masterson currently rode was used to rough riding in all kinds of weather. The man at the livery stable who loaned him the horse bragged that the stallion was more sure footed than a mountain goat, a statement the Sheriff was finding true with each passing hour.

Despite the outlaw’s head start, Bat felt he was gaining on him, and would already have had El Lobo in custody if it weren’t for the weather and the coloring of the man’s mount. With visibility bad at the moment, Bat feared he might not spot the outlaw on the faded gray until they were physically too close for comfort.

The wind was mild when he first started out, but soon built up to steady, strong gusts that picked up the frozen grit and flung it in your eyes as hard as a man’s fist at your face. Its persistent presence blowing through the thick forest around him sounded like a monstrous howling beast from his worst childhood nightmares, one that the Sheriff would only risk encountering today if he had a well armed posse at his side. While there were thankfully no immediate signs of new snow pending, the scudding gray clouds billowing eastwardly over the treetops darkened the woods, and that hampered tracking and travel.

Masterson traveled about another half a mile when something behind him caught his attention.

Had he heard a noise? Between the thick cushion of soft snow on the ground and the continual moaning and sighing of the wind, he was uncertain.

Sawing on the stallion’s reins until the horse stopped, Masterson turned sideways in the saddle, yet saw nothing behind him but the snow being blown about and already