Many of you know I write western fiction novels and short stories about the western world of the 1800s. For me it’s a job come true, I’ve read westerns and historical books about those times all my life. I grew up at the Saturday matinees watching Roy, Gene and Hopalong and I guess my head danced with idea of things to write about.
One idea that I had this week in my small brain was a short yarn and how to turn it into a saleable short story. The story is set pre-civil war and occurred in Texas. One centers around two Texas Rangers who are accompanying two friends and their dying Indian guide on a very distasteful job. The two lawmen had recently tracked down some rustlers aided by that tracker who found the trail of the horse thieves, led them to their camp where the three had a shootout with the outlaws. The tracker, Joe, was badly shot in the deal and all feared he’d die when they returned his wounded body to his wife. The man was a very good tracker and they needed him.
He belonged to the tribe that at one time was cannibalistic. His wife and the shaman who were treating him were convinced if he didn’t get some human meat to eat that he would die. So they were on their way in this bad cold spell to help two of his tribesmen dig up the frozen remains of the rustlers for a portion to feed the dying scout.
Now these two rangers were fighting internally on this quest, this idea of digging up a cadaver and cooking part of it for medicine. Still they wanted Joe to have every chance to survive, but a Christian up bringing had them torn between loyalty and what was right in their world. You can imagine how they felt riding into the blue face of a bad northern wind in the ill clad clothes they wore and a flapping blanket for more protection from the chill. That was problem one churning in my cavernous brain. If I ever finish it I will tell you where you can read about it.
At the same time I also talked to a man I know who is diarist. He keeps a daily diary of his life. It was written in his code and in short hand, and everything that happened that day was in there. Short things like, “talked to JD about the plan. Don’t think it will work. Need more ideas to convince him.” Perhaps with even less words.
As a writer, I treasure historical diaries of folks that lived in the 1800s. They are wonderful records of daily problems in people’s lives that were not recorded in any other place at the time. A man on a trail drive to Kansas wrote in his diary a story about a young cowboy bitten in his bedroll at night by a rabid skunk. The boy’s deathbed scene was horrible and they drew straws to pick the man who would end his suffering. He never said who got the shortest straw, but talked about the silence afterwards when they buried the lad under the prairie sod. How his mother could never put flowers on his grave. How the cattle’s split hooves would hide the depression and knock aside their crude cross that marked it.
They are tough stories that mark our ancestor’s lives. Glad I live today, where my heat pump roars and the fireplace too in all this arctic cold. Believe me spring isn’t too far away. May God bless you and your family as well as the United States, Dusty Richards
