Stone Kingdom

Bonnie Flach
Nov 4 · 35 min read
hawk soars about the stone kingdom — bjf ©

Upon this flatland heavy earth stones stand, once covered by sea, another time ice, now by wind and sun

in dark of night and heat of day, while all else has moved nature has not taken them away

though sands of dunes shift, ocean she moves in waves, wind moves the air, but these stones move not, they remain

Some are cracked by lightning strike, but there they stay, however, stones on slopes slide and tumble from snowmelt, rain and quakes

but on this flat ground, heavy earth stones remain in place, nature moved them not, ’til one day wealthy men haul them away

taken from everyman’s garden, to private places (estates) where only few can appreciate

Once covered by sea, another time by ice, now by wind and sun, in the stone kingdom ~ bjf © ~

bjf ©

Cattle Baron’s Ball

bjf ©

She got all gussied up and he had the gall to not show up at the Cattle Baron’s Ball

She told her best girlfriend that she’d never do that again & that her date would have to pick her up at her home like a gentle-man

So instead, when an ordinary poor fella invited her to the
Elk Fest, she wore her best dress

He showed up on time, tipped his hat, held her hand, though
he didn’t have many dimes, he was very kind

From then on they went out steady to
jamborees, gatherins’ , expos, rodeos &
stampedes, to roundups, festivals
and rodeo finals, they were hooked on
each other, yes, there’s no denial

They went to fairs, days, markets,
conferences, classics and shows, until
they ran out of events and places to go

They married and built a nest and
history was the rest, when all the children
were grown and few came to call, he made
her the queen of the Cattle Baron’s Ball ~ bjf ©

You just gotta forgive the Brat (fiction)

bjf ©

In the town of Oak Hill at Maverick’s Waterin’ Hole, bad teenager Jake Hopkins snatched Delilah’s mink stole. Well, that was a mistake, for she was Marshal Zach Tanner’s wife, Jake better keep movin’ or he’ll be lookin’ at the end of a rifle or knife

bjf ©

Jake left Whistler’s Ranch at Silver mountain on the Sunset range where Pinto river shone bright as a fountain on the southwest grange.

He robbed Kokopelli Trading Post when he arrived in Colt county, by this time he was on the “WANTED” list & up went the reward $, yes the bounty.

Jake was almost caught at Blake Cavender’s mill, but he had the fastest horse going uphill. The posse lost him in Wrangler’s canyon, but a lawmen put a bullet in the air that grazed his arm & they almost snagged him again at George Sim’s farm.

bjf ©

Lightly bleeding in his handkerchief bandage, he held up Kat Bandy at her Feed store and he made all the customers (including the horses) lie down on the floor.

He made a big fuss over his wound, though it was just a scratch & Deputy Jeremiah Murphy said he was such a faker.

Still, soon enough he’ll have an appointment with Sam Mosely, the undertaker. Sure enough at Longhorn lodge he was shot dead by Sally Brown the school teacher, looks like it’s too late to get the last rights by Jessie Gavin the town’s preacher.

bjf ©

Those who were robbed got their money back and the mink stole was returned to Delilah as well and I’ll be, she turned around and sold it, then donated the money to charity.

The orphanage bought the children new boots, and hats & flowers for Jake’s grave, cuz you just gotta forgive the brat, perhaps for a soul to save. ~ bjf © ~

rod adcox ©

~ What’s best ‘bout the West? ~

bjf ©

Horses or steers or new frontiers, yummy chuckwagon stew to eat or gorgeous land covered in sagebrush & mes-quite. Sun up or sun down or busy rodeo clowns. Mountains or prairies, deserts or sea, they’re all best, well, to me. It’s just too difficult to decide, like going to a barn dance or horse-back ride, or listening & telling stories fireside. Being in nature alone or attending a fest ‘bout the west, what’s the best? bjf ©

dad & I way back when at home, his beautiful fruit trees in bloom in background

Story ~ The Pursuit (Texas Ranger) ~ I never smile when I’m on an assignment, you could say that it’s one of my mannerisms, as a Texas Ranger I must remain vigilant for my clients count on me to get the villain and the contract’s signed by way of handshake & I remain focused & steadfast on my mission. Rumor has it he’s in Mexico, they say Durango, but I have to go solely by facts, that’s why the Comanche tracker I hired, was the only way to go. This expedition will take us to isolated backcountry sightings, but I know every square inch of this state, the hill country, flat deserts, arroyos, piney woods and rock outcroppings.

I’ve been to every abandoned way station, run down shack and wild saloon. I’m well-versed in the type of terrain the desperados will go to. I’ve wandered over tumbleweed covered cemeteries on nights with no moon. I’ve checked barns, trading posts and adobe structures determined until successful. On clear days, I’ve looked out over vistas of a hundred miles or more and I’ve seen the waning sun cast a warm glow over canyons then fade quickly to nightfall.

Over her earth, I’ve had wagonloads leave me choking on the kicked up dust, been on many a lonesome trail in which I found solace in the changing cloud colors and on the brightest of summer days, I’ve seen cliffs of smoky lavender and rich rusts. I’ve lost ’em at times, had to change my strategy and improvise and other bounty hunters butted in to my domain and they were the highfalutin ones that had charisma, were good lookin, but were terribly unwise. They weren’t a craggy-faced, old timer like myself, a hardworking common man. Some of them were immoral, as bad as the outlaw himself and only wanted the money. For me it was just the right thing to do, had to be done and I had to be genuine.

I’ve seen and heard all the stories, both the truth and the lies and I’ve searched log cabins and sod houses and past neglected rail lines and at white water river gorge hid behind massive boulders taking the man by surprise. In towns, I peered through the crowds checking for a standout, an outsider, who acts peculiar, skittish and ready to skedaddle at any given moment.

I’m ready, prepared for what unfolds, out-of-control chaos and whatever comes about. I usually catch ’em at a locale when they are weak, chasing a skirt, when they should be holed up behind fortress walls, somewhere in a god-forsaken pit of ground and feeling frightened and meek. When he is weak it’s easier to subdue him, with little to no struggle or on my part fear, he makes a stupid mistake and then I’ve got him and place him in cuffs….

…and then, my friend and only then can I finally smile and let me tell you it’s from ear-to-ear ~ bjf © this one was difficult with rhymes (some loose I admit) every other line, my attempt as prose.

bjf ©

Story ~ Horseshoe Hacienda ~ The hacienda was on the border in the Texas/Oklahoma panhandle she was a range over land that spread out in the heart of both Cherokee & Comanche territories & she was called “Horseshoe” a happy place to rejuvenate from too many days in the saddle & one can start afresh, you could sleep in an actual bed & not a bedroll or bunk, an authentic bed one can flop into with your boots still on.

Your host offered whiskey & you sat by the fireplace where you listened to him, as he told tales of how the west was won. He spun yarns of Apache raids & gunfights while the nights were filled with lively games of blackjack & then sleep so deep you didn’t know if you’d wake up again, but the dreams were intense.

There were stagecoaches pulled by steeds, in which men leap on to them & the horses are at breakneck speed trying to be ahead of robbers closing in, but then in the next scene you were on a train those horses-of-iron that replaced the stagecoach & was chock-full of foreigners from lands so strange.
In another scene you were in a fun-filled cantina in Mexico, a haunt with mariachi bands playing & women wanting to dance with you after too many shots of tequila, sadly at the same time lifting your wallet, that was given back by a lady that desired you.

Yet, another scene near the proximity of a silver mine shaft & what did you see, but color, could it be the mother lode then a green field near a house that looked familiar & it kindled a feelin’ of having been there before & on the same road in another space & time, a comforting place, only to wake by a rooster’s crow.

The morning finds you relaxing in a deep bathtub full of soothing hot water, you sink into where only your eyes are showing like a gator in the swamp, you wash & you scrub off all the dust & dirt & then you sigh with a long ahhh truly this is the happy hunting ground. Now for a shave to get rid of those many days worth of whiskers, the sting on the freshly opened pores from the aftershave was another matter.

You desire a hearty breakfast of buttermilk biscuits with gravy, bacon, eggs & grits & of course slap jacks, orange juice & black coffee then read through the paper & take a long draw on a cigarette, after it.
Tomorrow you’ll be in Amarillo riding bulls in the arena & you’re loose & ready for action, no worries you’ll make the time & who knows maybe you’ll be the champion this year, it could happen for heaven’s sake for you feel it in your bones & that trophy you are more than ready to take! ~ bjf © ~this was another one in which I tried to rhyme every other line, another attempt as prose.

~ Dreamcatcher Nights ~

bjf ©

Captivated by the cattleman’s tale and how he spoke of cacti and mesquite. The kid watched him gulp down his ale in the cadaverous vulture angry heat

“In desert country unforgiving I could only afford a shanty, it was so hard to make a living, in poker never upped-the-ante

Still I could not beat those firesides and those spellbinding western sunsets, after every arduous trail ride, hell no young man, I’ve no regrets

Sky mountain was where I often roamed, spent tranquil days on reservations, piñon pines growing in sandy loam, dreamcatcher nights Navajo nation

Lost my money to con men tycoons, wild women wearing loose apparel, in crazy dance hall saloons where some drank from the missionary’s wine barrels

Cattle rustlers & stage coach robbers, by black powder lived cold-blooded men, bandits who were lawmen dodgers. Ah, yes, well, that’s how it was back then

Still it’s adventure & trailblazing, gold railroad spikes, silver filigree, wilderness, frontiers, cattle grazing, the cowboy life, my friend, suited me”

Gus spoke of cacti & mesquite as the kid watched him gulp down his ale in
cadaverous vultures angry heat, he was captivated by the cattleman’s tale. ~ bjf ©

~ Blackjack Texas (Ghost Town /non-fiction) ~

Sit with me for a spell & let’s talk about the Texas range & how it has changed from when it once was wild before telephone poles & fence posts & how old pioneers & wranglers are now ghosts that inhabit that off the beaten path town, where most of her buildings were torn down, a tiny place in the piney woods, near a trail, insignificant by outsiders & overlooked by the rail. There still exists grass, stones & trees, because all the people are now in the cemetery — no need for them to come back, for they’ve never left Blackjack ~ bjf © note: where the card game was invented, some know as “21”

~ Before Fences ~

How glorious it must’ve been, when this land was open and free & the only fence was the green of closely planted trees. When there were pathways, but no roads, when there were horses with wagons, instead of trucks, to carry the loads. When there were no man-made obstructions before the eyes, when all the deer ran free and all the eagles & hawks could fly without hitting electrical lines. When there were no barbed wires for miles upon miles, keeping things both out and in, for it did not matter where the land would end or where it would begin — it is not yours or ours, for the sky, water and the sod, truly belongs to God ~ bjf ©

~ Cowboys Contract ~

No signatures required on parchment or in ledger books. Just a shake of hands sealed the bond from word-of-mouth promise, yes, that was all it took, oh, and some tack for the cowboys contract ~ bjf ©

~ Southwest ~

Earth as scorpion’s tail quakes ~ Zephyr howled thru canyon as coyote ~ River zigzagged as sidewinder snake ~ Sky she’s high on peyote, as the Sun in her adobe oven bakes ~bjf ©

~ Before Barbed Wire ~

Before the close shave, I would’ve liked to have seen the west, when it was rugged & free, wild & woolly as the mountain man’s beard ~ bjf ©

~ The West ~

For us mortals she’s boundless, I surrendered myself to her spell, over-whelmed by galloping vastness, into her outstretched arms, I fell. ~ bjf ©

~ Ah, the West ~

A rumpled shirt, that has never felt an iron, is the west, gussied up by an embroidered vest ~ bjf ©

~ Whiskey High (fiction) ~

In amber dreams beneath a glass sun, I drink fire light where salamanders run ~ bjf ©

~ Westward ~

I followed the colorful sky & the mighty buffalo westward along their migratory pathway, not only did I see the west, but I felt her, as her rain soaked into my skin — bjf ©

~ Where I Live ~

Where mesa boulders kiss sky, chiindii dust winds whirl, blazes sacred sun, hawk feathers swirl. I go to God in prayer, pray for strangers, family & friends, bask in dusk’s splendid colors & watch the day end. Live in love with land, in beauty with ocean, in spirit with sky & in harmony with men ~ bjf ©

~ The Legend ~

bjf © anza Borrego, calif.

The legend was immortalized overland & overseas, in enormous cities & remote back country. His fame spread like wildfire, though he grew up on a tiny ranch called “O Lonesome Me” the beauty of which, one could never grow tired of. It was in red-rock country, hidden, yes tucked away. Growing up his parents took what God gave them, come what may, still once you see city lights, the magic pulls you in & away from all you know, into the world of the unknown, both frightening & exciting at the same time. The road to success he started to climb, after making it, the paparazzi & tabloids helped destroy his family, he and his wife divorced & their children were estranged to them, because they were raised by nannies. One day in middle age, he cried “E n o u g h — I’m done with it all” & he & his former wife (both had never remarried) got back together, they reconnected with their adult children & enjoyed life, yes, life how it should be, filled with love back on that little ranch — renamed “Lonely no More” bjf © ~ I’m a sucker for happy endings —

bjf ©

All the Goodness She Brings — Solitary Arizona cowboy in his worn Wrangler jeans & sweat-stained hat rode his horse along cacti-lined trails to the watering hole on a day dripping with a turquoise blue sky. He was content in just soaking up the ruby-red grapefruit sun like a coiled up diamondback on a warm flat rock. For him their was nothing like the out-of-the-way places where the land stretched out far and wide and at the horizon’s end met with a surprise of a snow-capped mountain range, so high where the white of the snow & clouds collide. He travelled on the very same trails that once pioneers went over on heavy wagon wheels to little mountain towns with cozy names like Pinetop & Snowflake & woke up to an Apache salmon-pink sunrise. He laid his head down in a mountaintop bunkhouse on many moon-filled nights. He did not own a hacienda or sport golden diamond rings, but he was grateful for the beauty of the earth and all the goodness she brings ~ bonnie jean flach — copyrighted — all rights reserved

banner, calif — bjf ©

~ The Drunk Prospector ~ What was it that caused the horses to stampede a gunshot that went off too close perhaps, either way the mustangs bolted with the most handsome in lead on a day with an overcast steel-gray sky. They ran through country easterners called wasteland but it wasn’t for there was abundant mesquite good enough to make a blazing campfire grand. If you looked with good intentions you would see the beauty of the wilderness that was there all around.

Once only bands of indigenous peoples knew this land, long before the pioneers when it was pure sacred ground. The white sage was so dense that from a distance it gave a mirage as if the terrain was covered in snow & the scent left you in a dream-like state, well, so I have been told, like rivers flowed in stories passed down by shamans over generations.

The pioneers came with their overloaded mule trains some say they were adventurous, but mostly they were curious for men desire the unknown & search for what they can gain. They sent out native scouts ahead to find the best routes before they left their comfortable homes to settle out west. Some native tribes didn’t like the invasion & uprisings would take place other tribes knew the land belonged to God & He knew what was best.

The settlers would make it only if they were willing to adapt to a life vastly different from the one they left behind. Some couldn’t & returned to those eastern shores and those who continued went thru desert sand to find those pristine falls of water that left them awestruck. They may have been the first non-natives to witness it and the thought of that settled deep within them.
Some knew it was their destiny & couldn’t go against it, that pull, even if they wanted to. It was like a magnet, that if they didn’t go they would be haunted by “what if” for the rest of their lives.

When the dust cleared and the wind refused to blow the drunk prospector stumbled down the embankment and returned to his mine, pondering if today will be “that” day, pay dirt, feeling hopeful, strike it rich, well, he just may, he just may. ~ bonnie j. flach ©

~ Old Fossil of a Man ~

bjf ©

Round firesides cowpoke stories were told way past corrals in pastures of high plains on blue moon nights before days of monsoon rains

Yes, true he was an old fossil of a man with skin tough as saddle leather, but his heart was pure, soft as a feather

Round firesides cowpoke stories were told by man of mountains rocky aspen hills down to wild-flower meadows on lands never tilled

Yes, true he was an old fossil of a man with skin tough as saddle leather, but his heart was pure, soft as a feather

Round firesides cowpoke stories were told & in smoky saloons filled with lonely souls, yes just to make folks feel once again whole

Yes, true he was an old fossil of a man with skin tough as saddle leather, but his heart was pure, soft as a feather — bjf ©

sufferin’ succotash

Sage — bjf ©

On a southwestern street near the Santa Fe station in Sedona, Sadie had a souvenir-stand shop, where you could stop and select something splendid on sale, special silver-smith items such as sparkling spurs showcased and well stocked. Her spouse Stanley Samuel Sanderson specialized in superior saddlebags that had shiny silver star locks, frequently snagged by serious shoppers. Sadie loved to sing sad songs when she sewed on her Singer sewing machine, she was a spectacular seamstress, who was super successful in selling sharp shirts and slinky skirts, designed by her sister Sally. On summer Saturdays and Sundays, Stan sizzled steaks on a skillet, while they camped out, but sufferin’ succotash sometimes sneaky scorpions & snakes slipped into Stan’s sleeping bag, which made him scream, and shout “SHIT!” Yes, on a southwestern Sedona street near the Santa Fe station, you can stop & select something splendid on-sale at Sadie’s souvenir-stand shop, next time you’re out west on vacation — bjf ©

~ Easy Street in Carefree, Arizona ~

bjf ©

He never thought about sprinting down Easy Street, nor walk, Slick had a high class lady and he wanted to flaunt her that’s why they had always sauntered.

He’s a slow poke and he liked to show her off to everyone he would meet, you never saw them blaze through Easy Street.

They would not blast through upon a fast horse, no they clippity-clopped upon a mule, of course. She never loudly clomped down the stairs, but always descended with flair.

She takes dainty and elegant steps & the only sound you would hear is the swish of her organdy dress. Sadly, Slick’s bad habit was talking way too much about himself and he sure was lazy, which just about drove her crazy.

One day wildfire fast, a bad man rode in while it was thunder storming and Slick’s lady ran off with him, yes, she couldn’t take it anymore for ol’ Slick was boring.

Yes, Slick lost his chick, looks like in the future, he better learn to be quick!

bjf © — note: photo not taken in Arizona. It’s in Ranchita, Calif.

bjf ©

California Bound

The west represented (and still does) the opportunity for prosperity, it was looked at as the place of freedom, where one could spread their wings & where dreams really could come true. Some of the silver & gold miners actually did strike it rich. Some found wealth like a river which flowed in oil. There were also the men & women who became land owners with huge spreads & some became cattle barons. There were others who were successful agribusinessmen with huge farms.

Some didn’t go all the way across (from the east), but stopped permanently across the way, perhaps they fell in love with those red sandstone monoliths, the ones which abruptly rose out-of-the-earth & took on animal shapes (bison, bears, coyotes) in the distance, silhouetted against the orange sky at dusk (Utah, Arizona and New Mexico). Yes, those lands where the native american shamans prayed, land so remote there were only footpaths that lead into slot canyons. Many courageous pioneers journeyed west into dangerous territories & endured hardships which wore away at them (like the same zephyr wind which shaped the canyon walls). The hope of a better life kept them determined to fight back tears of frustration & continue to move forward.

Some stayed in those lands of lofty snow-topped mountains (Montana, Wyoming & Colorado) with canopies of endless blue skies. Some followed the spirit-chasers across the Dakotas & all the way down into Texas & fell in love with color-of-earth eyed indigenous squaw’s (like my great grandfather) & once their hearts were planted, their feet could no longer stray. Some moved into cooler lands of the northwest, transfixed by oceans of deep green forests.

The ultimate dream for the majority was that magical land at the edge of the pacific, the land the Spaniards called ~ California ~ where just the sound of it evoked an image of sparkling sunshine. In that heavenly mystical land there existed a spectacular central valley hundreds of miles long & wide, where an enormous variety of abundant crops were grown — almonds, grapes, plums, apricots, nectarines, pears, peaches, grapefruits, oranges, lemons, limes, avocado, strawberries & it was the north american “Eden.”

Another large migration occurred during the happy times of those roaring 20s & then those sad dust bowl days where one could find work. Some came for the cinema, to have wide open space for the shooting & production of motion pictures, some musicians came, especially from the deep south to flee persecution (Jim Crow laws) & have the freedom to express themselves in their music without fear.

People continue to come to California from all over the world & it’s not likely to stop. She truly is that golden land that I call — H o m e. ~ bonnie j. flach ~ copyrighted — all rights reserved

Puma Hills

bjf ©

~

Dew draped purple heather hills has she not

Hers are the color of the puma and mule team dry

Soft velvet green valleys has she not

Hers are rough doted with sagebrush and fibrous palms

Rain storm followed by rain storm (rare) has she not

Hers are clear bright skies with betraying precipitable clouds

Valleys with grass and no trees has she not, her trees holds millions of tiny setting suns

I have enjoyed all the places in the world where I have roamed

but where the hills are the color of the puma

is the place I call

Home

bjf © ~ Southern California ~

~ Califor -Nirvana ~ (California today)

ocean beach pier — rod adcox © san diego

She’s the land of swimming pools that comes with a sauna

Califor — Nirvana

She’s the land of abundant flora and fauna

Califor — Nirvana

She’s the land of mountain lions, hawks, coyote and tarantula

Califor — Nirvana

She’s the land south of neighbors Oregon & north of Mexico’s Tijuana

Califor — Nirvana

bjf ©

Back to the wild west……

~ California Sojourn ~

bjf ©color select monochrome ~ banner, calif.

From sparkling Willow Creek

down to dark Forest Glen

across the rambling Wildwood

I’ll meet you in Spring Garden

In the deep Cedar Grove

& gleaming Sutter’s Mill

you’ll find a treasure trove

within those golden hills

At Grizzly Flat you best beware

for you don’t want to meet

that kind of bear. Way up craggy

Buckhorn Summit, all the way

down to misty Oak Run, rapid

flows the Salmon River, while

glistening in the sun. At enchanting

Sugar Pine to charming Alder Springs

in the mystical Meadow Valley the

mockingbird sings. From majestic

Glacier Point to melodic Indian Falls

near the big Red Bluff the

mighty falcon calls. Across rambling

Wildwood, I’ll meet you in

Spring Garden, from sparkling

Willow Creek, down to dark Forest Glen

~ bjf ©

p.s. All the names with initial caps are real locations in California

Note: I am grouping my writing in themes, if you wonder where it disappears.

bjf © vintage automobile

Bad to the Bone 3 — Wild West

rod adcox ©

~ Ol’ Roscoe ~ Ol’ Roscoe that unscrupulous rogue and renegade, yes, that double dealin’ cheatin’ card shark he’s as bad as the ace of spades. That loathesome ruffian as sneaky as a snake as brazen as the diamon’ back your wallet he’ll gladly take. He’s a relentless outlaw a connivin’ two-bit liar, just plain ol’ mean and as crooked as barbed wire. Someday the law’ll find him and haul him off to jail it’s best he’s at his hideout for he’s as rough and tough as nails. Ol’ Roscoe that unscrupulous rogue and renegade, yes, that double dealin’ cheatin’ card shark he’s as bad as the ace of spades~ bjf ©

~ Rufus ~ Rufus was popular, ah yes, that’s right for all those celebrity posters said he was “WANTED” Well, yeah, okay there’s that other part “Dead or Alive” Hey, all the lawmen had to do was just look and they’d find him at some dump or dive. He was a nasty critter, a carpet bagger, cad and rake, but he was smarter than Ol’ Roscoe for he always grabbed what’s left of the take. He drank cheap whiskey and always had a scowl even when winning poker his mood was down right foul. He was a hardened bandit who never had any fun he was so vile and rotten that mean son-of-a-gun. Rufus was popular, ah yes, that’s right for all those celebrity posters said he was “WANTED” Well, yeah, okay there’s that other part “Dead or Alive” ~ bjf~ ©

~Rico Bandito ~ Let me tell you ‘bout Rico the toughest hombre in the west meaner than the rattler’s bite and the hornet’s nest. Ringleader of the Three R’s gang of banditos, more dangerous than the malaria carrying mosquito. He’s the scorpion in your cowboy boot and after every job he takes all the loot. Rufus and Roscoe get the scraps. Rico don’t care he knows their saps. He don’t kill, just seriously mames after all he has a rep and a name. Every lawman has picked out a tree, it’s just their thing their looking for the best one where Rico will swing. Let me tell you ‘bout Rico the toughest hombre in the west meaner than the rattler’s bite and the hornet’s nest. ~bjf ~ ©

Bad Women & Men of the West (non-fiction & fiction)

Cottonwood Tree @ Mission Trails, San Diego, Calif — bjf ©

~ The Thorny Rose (non-fiction)~ Laura Bullion that was her real name, but it is hard to tell, she had so many aliases as well, hmmm now let me see, there was Freda Lincoln, Clara Hays & Laura Casey. This Texas gal was a robber, banknote forger & woman of ill repute, these are facts & this part of her life, historians never dispute. She fell for a man of the Irish persuasion, Kilpatrick, first name of Ben, who was also known as the “Tall Texan” Now her father was a bandit as well & both of them served some time in jail. A romantic fling she had with the outlaw William Carver while at Fannie Porter’s brothel she worked in San Antonio and Carver, well Carver he proved to be no Romeo. She was a famous or perhaps I should say “infamous” member of the “Wild Bunch” invitation only private club & believe me “wrong” to any member you did not want to rub. She loved a particular flower, so for her nicknames she chose: Della Rose, Nellie Rose, Wild Bunch Rose & Desert Rose, no wonder her epitaph read “The Thorny Rose” — I admit that flower perks up one’s nose!
In 1905 she was released from prison, by the way she was very popular in jail, and got lots of visitors & mail. The last years of her life were spent in Tennessee, a poor seamstress until she was placed in a boothill cemetery ~ bjf © — Laura Bullion ~ Mertzon, TX — B 1876 — D 1961 Memphis, TN

~ Rose of Cimarron (non-fiction)~ There isn’t much known, that is of fact, of Cimarron Rose except that she looked good even without hats & bows. She was smitten with a Wild Bunch bandit, George Newcomb, “Bittercreek” was his nickname, it was his heart she wanted, not fortune or fame. Her job was to secure the gang’s supplies for raids and that she did, then during robberies, she wasn’t involved, for she was barely a teenager, yes, just a kid. Her brothers taught her how to rope, ride and shoot & how to pick out the best cowgirl boots. For her sake, it was good that her Wild Bunch days came at the end of those “wild” west years & that she found her a good man (Charles Albert Noble) most dear, for, there isn’t much known, that is of fact, of Cimarron Rose except that she looked good even without hats & bows ~ bjf © — — — — Rose Dunn (Ingalls, OK — B 9–5–1878 D 6–11–1955)

~(non-fiction) ~ Notorious ~ As an outlaw one of the best in the trade. Skilled as a gun-slinger wild west made and greatly impressed the other bandits in the use of pistols, rifles & shotgun, whether single or double barreled, Winchester, Colt or Smith & Wesson it mattered not, handled all firearms precisely, came out on top while the others just dropped in any feud, firefight or skirmish. On the lam, travelled westward from Missouri through Texas steeped in utter lawlessness & infringed on other villains territories. I read this lawbreaker could play a mean game of Five-Card-Stud and was lucky both at poker and the draw of a gun. This criminal’s own family members lived in fear, but this robber could hold you up quicker than you could let out a sigh and then rapidly ride a horse with the attitude of an angry wildcat. She sure looked good in a skirt too that — Belle Starr ~ bjf ©

bjf ©

~ What Was His Hand? ~ Deadwood, South Dakota USA — 2 August 1876 — RIP Wild Bill Hickock (non-fiction / historical) ~ What cards was he holding when his head was filled with lead, when Hickock (by Jack McCall) was shot dead. When out of his head his brains did gush, was Wild Bill holding a Royal Flush? Did he have every Ace, it still remains to be seen, perhaps his life would have been spared, if he held the heart queen. In that basement room at Nuttal & Mann’s saloon he should have been serious, not a joker, and drank whiskey, instead of playing poker ~bjf ©

non-fiction / historical — 21 July 1865, Springfield, Missouri, USA ~ Lyon House Duel ~ Dave Tutt Jr. was the quick-draw, but it was a shot in the dark and he missed his mark, that means more than a lot when there’s only two shots. Hickock was precise, accurate & cool, thus, naturally, he won the duel. Was the gunfight about a girl, poker, whiskey or money? No historian knows, except that Tutt was left dead in the road and for his family that sure wasn’t funny. Dave Tutt Jr. was the quick-draw, but it was a shot in the dark and he missed his mark, that means more than a lot when there’s only two shots. ~ bjf © Note: Two shots (one bullet for each man) — Hickock as in Wild Bill.

- Stagecoach Robbers -

bjf © Descanso, Calif

The bad guys inside man (the informant) was the good guys heel and like a pig to the bad guys squeal, for he always knew when big money $$$ would be passing through by stage in strong boxes & mail, because some good guys talked too much, would never shutup & left verbal trails. Many banditos were masters of disguise and could pull off jobs right before your eyes. Oh, they were bad, but smarts they did not lack and knew how to conduct those clever surprise attacks. Sometimes, however, before the job was done, they had to quickly cut and run. The get-away, of course, was the most important part of the job, for the robbers of the coach, but never, ever, underestimate the stick’em up, the initial approach! ~ jf ©

Cactus Charlie & Bad Breath Billy — ( fiction) Humor

rod adcox ©

Cactus Charlie loved to raise hell just after sundown in his high country hideout, off the Horse Thief Trail just past Outlaw Creek. He would consume too much liquor and have some laughs with a few mountain men way up a soaring peak that had a jaw dropping view of the mining town below, he could neither walk the straight and narrow, nor be a gunslinger, but because he stole a bit of money sometime back, he could not just trot out of the mountain & enter the town at a whim. When he lifted the marshal’s genuine silver money clip, he didn’t realize that he had such large bills in it.

He got his nickname, because he was a klutz and had a bad habit of getting bucked off his horse and landing onto cacti and then he had the abysmal task of plucking the needles out of his flesh one-by-one, which made him squirm. The mountain men got him supplies at the mercantile and he accepted the hand that was dealt him, after all it was his own fault that he didn’t fold when he should have and that he often drew a joker, but he chose to play the game.

He did all the manual labor for the mountain men to barter for his supplies and also because they knew what he did, but did not turn him in. The thing is, the marshal forgot about it, a long time ago, and he didn’t even live in the town anymore, in fact, had moved away years ago to Kansas with his wife and children. Cactus Charlie hadn’t a clue. The mountain men knew, but got a kick out of Cactus Charlie doing all their work, so it was worth it to them to keep it a secret.

Cactus Charlie just loved the high country, because he preferred the pine trees over them damn cacti. Really, I’d say, it was a win-win situation all ‘round, well, if ya asked me. ~bjf © see below photo for next story

cacti @ anza borrego desert, calif — bjf ©

Bad Breath Billy ~ was a fugitive who went astray as a teen, his image long tarnished, he held the law in disdain. He was without a doubt a rude and disrespectful reptile, who was only good at villainy, well not really even that. He liked to emulate his hero “Billy-the-Kid”, shameless in his vileness and treachery and like a rat went scurrying about from one hideout to another. It was best not to cross him, for he always took vengeance. He was indisputably the most atrocious outlaw west of the Pecos river. His most beloved crimes were holding up stage coaches and robbin’ trains. Ladies would voluntarily pull the rings off their fingers, hand them to their husbands to give to Billy (even if he didn’t notice them), just so as not to get a whiff of his foul skunk breath. The slightest hint of it would make you puke and faint. Billy’s own gang told him he needed to work on hygiene, but he thought that meant blue jeans that were hemmed at the knees, useful during floods. When the Lord handed out smarts, Billy only got the “alec” kind, which got him kicked out of school. Since he was so dumb, it was just a matter of time he would get apprehended. Sure enough, during one train robbery, Billy did not know how to spell “money” so his note read: “hend ofur yur coyns” which is what the conductor did, keeping the valuable currency locked up in the safe. Billy got bags and bags of copper pennies in poorly made burlap sacks, that upon his escape slit open. The coins left a trail right up to his hideout, in which he was captured in no time. The jailer said he wanted to either retire or for Billy to hang, because he did not want him to stink out his jail cell. Billy was hung and if you saunter past his grave, it smells like a whole family of polecats live there. Well, I have to get back to the station, there’s another group of tourists coming in a half hour. ~ bonnie j. flach © ~

Campo, Calif — bjf ©

Well Hot Damn

rod adcox ©

Fired from his job, he gives a hoot & howl, well I’ll be damned, still no one cried foul. He wanted to fight and all skedaddled outta sight, yes, he was juiced and that’s why the boss let him go, cut him loose. He told him so, no alcohol at work, everyone knows, but that’s what he chose. Well hot damn, he was hired the next day and you say “no way, what, how, where” well at the county fair. He was hired to drink everyone under the table, if he was able and folks placed their bets, they got snockered, before his tongue got wet. It took a lot to get him drunk, but when he was, it was a slam dunk. He gave a howl & hoot, this time ‘bout the dog shit on his cowboy boots. He wanted to fight and everyone scrammed. Well, hot damn! — bjf ©

~ Plays (fiction)~

~ Cornelius ~

~ fields & trees at lake kumeyaay, san diego, calif — bjf © ~ right across from my home —

This here story is ‘bout the youngest member of the Dillingham-Smith gang. Here are the characters: ~ Matriarch — Mary; Mary’s sons from the eldest to the youngest — Robert, Carl, Thomas, Samuel, George & Cornelius (Neal) Jr. — main character; Uncle Dan Smith (Mary’s brother) ~ Grandpa Harvey Smith (Mary’s father) ~ Narrator — Father Jose’ (Joseph) Ortega Ramos (local priest); Edward Brown (good neighbor) ~ Sally Mae Ferguson (school teacher & Neal’s future wife)

Narrator: Yes, you’re right Cornelius is not a very macho name for a bandit, in fact it’s “corny” if ya ask me. Cornelius’s family was embarrassed by his name, including his own widowed mother, so they nicknamed him “Neal” He was named after his late father, much to the dismay of Mary, but since she named all of her other sons, it seemed fittin’ that her husband would name their last child. The problem with Neal was that he was an extremely good person, while his whole family were the opposite. Grandpa Harvey was notorious, his late father rotten, his mother vile, his brothers loathsome & uncle Dan meaner than a scorpion in your bedroll. What happened to Neal, no one knew, except his ma realized that she raised him wrong. He had the very bad habit of putting the loot on the altar of the local mission church (much to our delight), without being seen. He was elated in sneaking some money into the school teacher’s desk or in the barns of his poor neighbors. He was totally unsuccessful at being bad & although his brothers beat him up, he refused to be a holdup man or stick a gun in anyone’s face. Yes, he was bored being holed up in various hideouts, which is where his ma left him, since he was a total burden on raids & robberies and in the way. He wanted to be a cowboy.

Neal: “My God, I just ‘bout jumped out of my skin Mr. Brown (as the neighbor came to his door), I haven’t seen a human face in months”
Mr. Brown: “Well, Neal I’ve got some bad news, maybe good news, ‘pends on how you look at it, but maybe you should sit down”
Neal: “It’s alright Mr. Brown, just go ahead & tell me”
Mr. Brown: “Well, your family’s been apprehended in Ogden & it looks like they’ll be in jail for years & Neal, I hate to say this, but your grandpa’s dead.”
Neal: “Well the only one I feel bad for is my ma, you know her ma died while giving birth to her & grandpa was always evil & that was all she knew.”
Mr. Brown: “If you look at it this way Neal, your free now.”
Neal: “Not sure how I’m gonna get any kind of work, everyone knows the bad reputation of my family & who’ll take me on.”
Mr. Brown: “You once told me you had interest in working with lifestock & Neal I’ll train you”
Neal: “Do you think the law’ll come after me, thinkin’ I’m like my family”
Mr. Brown: “Nah, you ain’t got a mean bone in you & everyone knows it”
Neal: “Yeah, but I’m not a pansy.
Mr. Brown: “Well okay Neal, come by Monday morning & I’ll show you how to work with cattle, but what are your long term plans?
Neal: I’ve fallen for Sally Mae, but she won’t have me until I get work.
Mr. Brown: Well, that’s just great, we’ll get you some work, so you can take her out.
Narrator: Well after a year of training with neighbor Brown, ol’ Neal wasn’t anymore a cowboy, than a city stockbroker & it looks like Ed’s gonna have to break the news
Mr. Brown: Neal, son, did you know that I wanted to work in the oil business in my youth, but it didn’t pan out. Well, no matter how hard I tried, it just wasn’t the right fit for me.
Neal: I know what you’re going to say & I have to agree, I’m not a cowboy
Mr. Brown: Yes, well, you’ve got book smarts Neal & you can still work in the cattle business. I need a good bookkeeper, will you do it?
Neal: Sounds good to me, because I feel like I’ve aged a decade in a year.
Narrator: Another year went by & Neal turned out to be the best worker Ed had, he showed up on time & was the last to leave each day, oh & I married Neal & Sally Mae here at the mission church.
Sally Mae to Father Jose’ (Narrator): I heard some terrible news in town, they say that Dan escaped jail when the Deputy was being foolish, it’s a good thing that Neal & I live at my house, but Uncle Dan feels that Neal snitched on them to the law in Ogden, Utah of when that bank was going to be robbed.
Father Jose’ to Sally Mae: Yes, but I know as a priest I’m always supposed to tell the truth, but I can hint & I hinted that Neal’s in Guadalajara, Mexico, so Dan is heading that way, but you know it is no longer safe here for both of you.
Mr. Brown to Neal: Neal my advice, now that Dan is heading south, is for you & Sally Mae to go north to Canada.
Years later…….
Narrator: I received a letter from Neal in Calgary, he & Sally Mae have a whole mess of children they adopted (from the mission orphanage), but you know Cornelius died, well not in body, but in name. When they left for Canada, our judge gave him a new legal name: Joseph Edward Ferguson.
Yes, it sure pays to be book smart as Ed would say. ~ bonnie j. flach © ~

note: Joseph (after the priest) Edward (after good neighbor Mr. Brown) Ferguson (his wife’s last name).

bjf ©

They Stole the Preacher’s Horse ~

~ Narrator: They found themselves on a perilous wind-worn rock structure, located way up a steep trail in a cumbersome terrain, in which one is so weary, that the weariness runs deep into the marrow of one’s bones, before you even reach the narrow ridgetop. At the summit, the vista overlooked an eye-opening moonscape desert below:
“Kine-ah funny you know” said Troy
“What’s so hilarious?” responded Clayton
“I mean odd” replied Troy
“How’s that?” said Trevor
“Well, usually it’s the outlaws lookin’ down at the good guys” responded Troy
“And?” said Harris
“Well, that’s Hollis McGrath down there and his gang” said Troy
“How can you tell?” said Clayton
“He wears a red bandana around his black hat & I recognize his palomino’s pattern” replied Troy
“Well, hell we better keep our heads down” said Harris
“Just thinkin” said Clayton
“Bout what?” said Trevor
“Nuttin” said Clayton
“Spill it” said Troy
“Spose we get ‘em?” said Clayton
“You’re crazy!” exclaimed Harris
“Not kill ’em or nuttin, just get the town’s belongin’s back” said Clayton
“Well there is four of us and only three of them, so we’ve got the advantage” said Trevor
“Yep, and you can forget our lazy marshal doing anything about the McGrath’s, he’s such a coward” said Clayton
“They stole the preacher’s horse” said Harris
“Heard the teacher left town cuz she got raped by one of them McGrath’s” said Trevor
“How much more of them can we take?” said Harris
“That Hollis McGrath is a vicious, wild and unruly polecat” said Clayton
“Yep, that whole gang is nuttin but reckless, troublemakin,’ shotgun-wieldin’ gunslingers” said Trevor
“That Sonny McGrath is a sneaky unpredictable varmint” said Troy
“James is the one most peculiar, I think he’s a raven lunatic” said Harris
“It’d be a hoot wouldn’t it, to rob those pack of thieves, course it wouldn’t be robbery, just gettin’ our belongin’s back” said Clayton
“Would they take revenge?” said Troy
“Nah,” said Clayton, their thieves, but not murderers and Hollis is real stuck-up, he’d never admit he was had, they’d just leave the territory and never come back.”
“Well, if we’re gonna do this, it had better be now” said Harris
“All right guys, here’s the plans……..”said Clayton
Narrator: See what happens when you’re a bunch of good guys on the top of a bluff, you just never know what you’ll undertake. What do you suppose happened to those good guys: Clayton, Troy, Harris and Trevor? What do you suppose happened to those scoundrels: Hollis, Sonny and James? Well, you’ll have to come up with your own ending to the story, because you know every cowboy & cowgirl has to blaze his & her own trail on the wild frontier. Giddyup Spooky, there’s a wildfire comin’ -by bonnie j. flach ©~

Northwest — Alaska

~ Get Rich Quick ~ (non-fiction/historical)

Rod Adcox ©

Rush
for gold
started at
that first rail
spike in Alaska’s
Skagway, ah, yes,
Klondike & it went
on into the Yukon, but
there were only two ways
the prospectors could get there,
alas, along the trail of White Pass,
that same one Mr. London, that is,
Jack had tread, only he called it the
trail of the horse that was dead. Men
did find gold & some became rich, but
here’s the hitch, a few quickly took every-
thing they could git, the bad men, yes bandits,
& that wasn’t myth, just read the headstone on
the grave of Jefferson ‘Soapy’ Smith ~ bjf ©

The Story Hall

A gathering place for stories to be told, read and appreciated.

Bonnie Flach

Written by

Photographer, Poet, Pianist, Artist & Environmentalist — Calif. USA— http://www.oceanartistssociety.org

The Story Hall

A gathering place for stories to be told, read and appreciated.

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