I spent yesterday in Indian country (Oklahoma) and barely escaped with my scalp (you have to be on your toes in those casinos). Today, I feel like stomping the dust off my boots, busting through the bat-wing doors of my favorite watering hole, and sucking down a frosty mug of ice cold sarsaparilla.
In this week’s story a daring young man attempts to herd a valuable cash-crop through the badlands in search of fame and fortune.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Trail Boss in charge of this weekly wagon train is the straight shooting Rowdy Yatestein Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF “Hollywood Squares” author seating chart click here.
Elton couldn’t believe his eyes. The lush valley below was overflowing with cotton candy, the largest herd he’d ever seen. Dollar signs flashed before his eyes as he contemplated how to get it to market.
The shortest route to the railroad was through Indian Territory. It would take a team of veteran drovers to get the herd through the high-walled canyons, ford swollen streams, and across the wind-blown prairie. They were sure to encounter some sticky situations, especially with the Sweetoothi tribe now on the warpath.
It would take a special breed of cowboy. Where would he find such men?
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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