Meleah's Western Part 13

Hello Meleah's Western Fans,
Yes, I do have the next part ready for you, but I really hope some one or several some ones will ask some questions. I got them this far, but I'm not sure what is going to happen next. I'm hoping that on Sunday I'll have a long, quiet afternoon where I can work on more of the Western.

I hope to get started on some short stories again soon, so come back and see what I posted. Of course at the rate the days are flying, I don't know if I'll have anything written.:} I don't see how they can go by so quickly! I mean, good grief! James is turning 2 today!! Wasn't Krista just born? And I know J & M were just married a year or two ago.:} But, such is life. I had better get used to it as I see no indication that the days are going to slow down any.

But be that as it may, I will no longer keep you waiting for Part 13. Enjoy!

Part 13

Sally struggled to keep her eyes open, but it was hard work. Leaning back in her chair she yawned. Ty smiled, took the empty cup from her hand lest she drop it and glanced around the room. Aunt Leah must have also been watching Sally for she remarked, “It’s gettin’ rather late an’ Sally an’ I’ll be headin’ off ta bed. You three men folk can bed down anywheres yer a mind to in here or up in the loft. Pa’s got a heap a skins stacked over yonder. Come on now child.” She gently helped Sally stand up and began guiding her out of the room into a small bedroom. “I reckon the men folk can get along all right without us now.”

For several minutes after the ladies left the room, the three men sat in silence. It was broken at last by Uncle Matt. “I reckon you’ll be wantin’ ta turn in soon. We can have all the time we want ta talk in the mornin’ for it don’t seem’s though yer goin’ ta be a leavin’ soon the way that storm is blowin’.”
Carson glanced at his young companion’s face and noticed how worn he looked. “I aim ta turn in, now’s I’m thawed out. What ‘bout you, Ty?”
With a startled look, Ty raised his head, “What’s that?”
Carson chuckled, “I was jest suggestin’ ya turn in ‘fore ya tumble off yer chair.”
Ty gave a tired grin and rose to his feet. “Reckon yer right.”

It wasn’t many minutes later that two distinct snores were heard issuing from the loft as Uncle Matt blew out the lamp and stretched his old limbs on a pile of skins near the fire and closed his eyes.


It was broad daylight, or would have been had it not still been snowing, when Sally awoke from the first real relaxing and restful sleep she had known since her father had been taken sick. The sleep she had back at the cabin had been one of exhaustion, and she hadn’t felt much refreshed when she had awakened. Now, however, things were different. There was no need to worry about them coming for Ty. There was a woman to talk to, and no one was ill. With great rapidity she dressed, brushed her long dark hair back from her slender face and twisted it into its accustomed knot at the back of her head.

Stepping out of the small room, she paused to glance about her, for she had been so tired the night before that she had scarcely noticed anything. Now she saw a simple room with a table and a few wooden chairs pushed off to one side. A cook stove, over which Aunt Leah was bending, stood over against the wall opposite the outside door. The fire blazed brightly in the fireplace, and curtains hung on the three windows. There was even a gaily colored rug on the floor which Sally noticed with a smile of satisfaction. She wouldn’t mind staying here for a spell; she wouldn’t mind at all. Just then her attention was drawn to a tall, broad shouldered youth who had entered the door with an armload of wood. There was something about him that made Sally stare. He was clean shaven, and his eyes looked bright and cheerful. With a few strides he had crossed the room and in no time at all had stacked the wood neatly in the wood box. As he stood up, he glanced over and saw her standing in the doorway regarding him in bewilderment.

“Well, I see ya decided ta get up after all,” he chuckled. “I reckon ya’ll have someone ta feed those flapjacks to, Aunt Leah.”
“Ty?” Sally questioned in astonishment. With a sudden rush she had her arms around his neck while he swung her around the room. She was laughing and finally managed to gasp out, “I didn’t know ya until ya spoke. Ya look,” she paused for the right word. “Ya look so young, Ty. Not like ya did the night ya came home. Then ya looked nearly as old as Uncle Bob.” She used the childhood name she had long called her father’s friend and smiled over it tenderly. “I feel much too old to be yer little sister,” she remarked, suddenly pulling her hair out of its unbecoming knot and shaking her head to let it fall loosely about her shoulders and face.
Ty laughed and gave her a brotherly kiss. “Now ya look like the little girl I left long ago. Go eat yer breakfast ‘fore it gets cold,” and he gave her a gentle shove to the table.

Aunt Leah was regarding them with bright eyes. “Land sakes!” she exclaimed “You two younguns sure know how ta stir things up. Ya look a might more chipper this mornin’ than ya did last night.” She looked at Sally. “Did ya sleep well?”
Sally sighed in contentment. “I don’t remember when I’ve slept that well. But,” she added looking around, “where are the others?”
“Out,” Ty told her. “Takin’ care of the stock. I was picked ta bring in the wood. I reckon though that they’ll be in ‘for too long.”

Almost as though they had been waiting for those words, the door was flung open and two snowy figures came in stamping snow off their boots and shaking it from their hats and coats.
Sally sprang from her chair and ran to fling her arms around Carson as she used to do when a small girl. “I never really greeted ya back at the cabin, Uncle Bob,” she said. “I was so worried then, so I reckon I ought ta do it now.” She gave him a hearty kiss.

Carson pressed a kiss on one rosy cheek and then the other. Holding her off at arm’s length, he studied her. She was a lovely combination of both parents he decided, and a warm smile crossed his face.

Meleah's Western Part 12

Good Morning Readers,
Once again it is a cloudy Friday morning. At least we had sun the last two days! And it is just supposed to rain and not snow this time. We'll see what happens. I really have been floundering about on the sea of writing this past week or so. I have written two short calendar stories and have two Meleah's Westerns written. I also got my assignment done for a writing club, but I still feel like I haven't written anything! I think part of it is that I don't have any long book to work on. After spending 5 years working on a project, I feel rather lost without it. So, last night I started the sequel to "Home Fires of the Great War." :) I had to write something. I'm not sure of the style I'll write it in or the main conflict yet, but I'll keep working. At least it gives me something long to write. Some of you are probably wishing I'd just write Meleah's Western. Well, I would but this story doesn't like to be written too much at once. It is like some good soups, it has to simmer a while.:) Besides, I write that on Sunday afternoons. What would I write the rest of the week?

But enough rambling. Those of you who are fans of or who just follow Meleah's Western, will be delighted to learn that the winner of the quiz has requested that story for this week and next. I hope you enjoy this next part of it.

Part 12

For nearly five long hours the trio had been riding. Carson and Ty were carful to leave behind a trail that was so confused it would take a skilled tracker and broad daylight to follow it. Ty hoped fresh snow would cover them though before anyone tried it. Darkness had closed in around them some hours before, yet they continued to push on with a steady pace.

Sally was cold, stiff and weary. Her eyes were heavy. She didn’t know how Ty and Carson could tell where they were. For all she knew they had been merely riding in a circle. The wind began to blow. Carson glanced up at the sky and noticed the clouds moving in.
“Looks like we’re goin’ ta be gettin’ some snow, Ty,” he called back softly.
“Good,” was all the reply Ty gave.
In silence once again, the three companions rode. Sally shivered as the first snow flakes began falling, and the cold, icy wind stung her cheeks. She bent her head and with stiff fingers pulled her wrap closer about her.
“You all right, Sally?” the voice of her brother startled her, for she had not noticed him ride up beside her.
She nodded. She wouldn’t let him know just how cold, yes, and frightened, she really was. She knew that sometime they would stop and make camp. They would have to for the horses couldn’t go on much farther. But how could they camp in this weather? The wind was driving the snow against them with increasing fury, and no stars were now visible.

Carson’s shout startled both Ty and Sally. “I see a light. We’re most there.”
Urging their horses on, the brother and sister caught up with Carson, and Ty demanded to know where they were.
“It’s the cabin a some folks I know. They’re right nice people an’ they ain’t goin’ ta mind some visitors.”
“Make sure it’s safe first, Carson.”
Carson nodded and rode on, with Ty and Sally following at a slower pace.

Only a short time later, all three had reined in before a small cabin. The door was open in welcome, and light shone out through the blowing snow. Ty helped Sally dismount, for she was so stiff and cold she could scarcely move.
“Take the horses to the stable over yonder,” the deep voice of a man called over the wind to Carson and Ty. “Then come in and thaw yerselves. Ma ken take care a the lady.” With that he drew Sally inside and shut the door.

A stout motherly woman with white hair and soft grey eyes bustled about Sally, taking off her wrap and bonnet, pushing her to a chair before a roaring fire, and removing her shoes. “There now, deary, you jest sit there an’ warm up a bit. The coffee’ll be ready in two shakes. How far have ya come? Hard ridin’ in a storm like this, ain’t it?” The woman talked on. She could tell Sally was exhausted and didn’t feel like talking. In a matter of moments she placed a cup of steaming hot coffee in Sally’s icy hands. “Now jest drink this. It’ll put new life in ya. There ain’t nothin’ like a good hot cup of coffee ta warm ya right up.”
With hands that trembled from cold and exhaustion, Sally lifted the cup and gulped down a mouthful of the hot liquid. It felt wonderful, and she closed her tired eyes. With a sigh of satisfaction, she began to relax as the fire, the coffee and a blanket she felt being tucked around her shoulders began to banish the numbness.

After several minutes, the door was opened, and in stamped Carson and Ty. They were both covered with snow.
“Now, Pa,” the motherly woman directed. “Help them get out of those snowy coats while I pour some more coffee for them. They must be ‘bout frozen. Get those boots off so yer feet can thaw. Now,” she ordered, “get over here ta the fire, both of ya. Well, at least you can walk. The poor girl was scarce able ta move! Here’s yer coffee. An’ there’s more of it when ya want it. Pa, why don’t ya put another log or two on the fire.”
As the woman had talked, Ty and Carson had sunk into chairs before the fire and taken the steaming cups offered them. Ty, sitting beside his sister, glanced at her pale face anxiously while inwardly he chided himself for giving in to her pleadings to go along with him. “It’ll be too difficult for her. I should have left her with the Harnnards,” he thought.
As though she could read his thoughts, Sally gave him a tired smile and said softly, “I’ll be jest fine once I get warm, Ty. An’ I wouldn’t have stayed behind on any account.”
Ty reached out his hand and gave hers a gentle squeeze.

A silence descended on the small group. Even the woman grew quiet once the others were situated to her liking with hot drinks and a blazing fire. Her husband had seated himself on a bench at the table and was smoking his pipe. The woman sat down across from him with her knitting.

At last Carson half turned in his chair.
“I reckon I ought ta introduce ya to each other, though I reckon I never was good at that type a thing. These here are my friends, Ty an’ his sister, Sally. Ty, Sally, that is Mr. an’ Mrs. Shaw.”
“Goodness sakes, Bob!” interjected Mrs. Shaw. “Ain’t nobody calls us that ‘round here. The folks that know us at all call us Uncle Matt an’ Aunt Leah an’ we don’t want no other names.”
The older man removed his pipe and drawled, “That’s fer sure, so don’t ya go an’ be forgettin’ it, Bob Carson.”
Carson grinned and reached out to pour himself some more coffee. “Aunt Leah,” he remarked, “ya sure make the best coffee anywheres. An’ that’s the truth.”

Come back next week for part 13

Quiz Answers!

Wow! That was the most comments I think I have ever received on this blog at one time! Thanks everyone who took a little time to take the quiz. It sure was fun to check each person's answers when they came in. Many of you thought alike on some of the answers, but no one got all 13 questions right. One person only missed one question and one other person only missed two. And they are . . .

Wait! I think I should tell you the answers first and perhaps you can figure out if you were one of the top two.:) Are you ready?


Question #1:
Where did I write most of my book?
Many of you guessed (A) at my desk. Ugh! I'm sorry, but my desk does not inspire me with creativity and most of the time I can't even see the top of it. (B) Outside. Well, I think I wrote a little there, but it is too distracting. (D) On the floor. I did write quite a bit on the floor, and it was a great place to do research with so many books. But (C) on my bed is the very best place for me to write. It seems to be the one place in the house where I can write and have lots of ideas. I LOVE to write on my bed!


Question #2:
What time of day was most of the book written?
(A) Morning, well, now and then if I was in the middle of a good story, I could write then. (C) Late at night. You know I never tried it. I thought about it a few times when I couldn't get to sleep, but I never got up to do it. (D) Afternoon. That is the absolute worst time for me to try to write. I have tried over and over, but with the same results. (Unless it is Sunday afternoon and then it works for a Western.) My mind is shut down and refuses to work. So, the answer is (B) Evening. After supper and especially after I'm ready for bed, all the creative gears start turning and before long I have a story.:)

Question #3:
Having spent 5 years working on my book, in which of those years did I write the most?
(E) I wrote over half of it last year in 2009

Question #4:
Which was my book written mostly with?
(A) Pencil and Paper was a good guess, and if I had written most of it before 2009, that answer would have been correct. (B) I don't think I wrote any with a pen unless it was notes. (C) I can not compose a story on the computer. Sorry. (D) NEO! That is the answer. And many of you were wondering what on earth a NEO was. Well, my simple version is "an electronic typewriter." It is an amazing thing I found in a writer's magazine, researched it one day and ordered it the next. It runs on 3 AA batteries for 700 hours! I have had mine for over a year and use it all the time and the batteries are only about 1/2 used up. NEO has 8 files you can use and you don't have to worry about saving anything as it will save it as you type. It does spell check, is light weight, doesn't get hot on the bottom as there is no light and is very sturdy. Krista and James love to type on it. It is the best invention since sliced bread.:) Can you tell I like my NEO? Oh, you can then transfer whatever you have written to the computer or right to the printer. If you love to write, I'd would recoment a NEO!



Question #5:
Which part was the easiest to write?
As I was Emma, the answer was (A) Emma's letters.

Question #6:
In doing my research I have been to:
I'd love to go to (A) Nova Scotia or (C) France, but I have been to (B) Codell. Grandpa took me. It is a 4 hours drive from KC. I would love to go again as it was nearly 100 degrees then and we didn't see a single living soul in the town. Does anyone want to go with me?

The only church in town

This is the main street with the post office

The Codell School. Rebuilt after the 1918 cyclone destroyed the other.

Memorial by the school

Question #7:
If I wanted to know something about my characters I would:
(C) Ask my characters. I really would. I know all kinds of things about them that aren't in my book. It is rather funny to think about asking my characters, but it works. Try it some time.

Question #8:
I always made my characters do what I wanted. I did NOT! They refused sometimes! I tried to put Alan in the Navy. After all he is a fisherman, but no, he would not stay there but kept getting off and playing his bagpipes until I let him join the army.

Question #9:
Whenever I sat down to write, I already knew what I was going to write. Nope. Many times I just had to wait and see what my characters did.

Question #10:
My least favorite place to do research was the internet. That is the truth! I do NOT like trying to find things on the internet. I never can find what I want without spending hours . Give me a book anytime.

Question #11:
I still have stories that I didn't get to put in my book. What a question! Of course I do! Like the USS Covington, and more "Ted, Fred, Larry and Jim" stories, and the African front, and the runaway horse, and . . .

Question #12:
My characters were almost as real to me as my family. They sure were. I miss them now that I'm not writing about them.:{ I lived with them and watched them grow up for 5 years!

Question #13:
I now have shelves of research material for WWII. Only three people seemed to realize that that said World War 2 and that my book was about World War 1. No, I have not been collecting books for the next war, though some of the ones I have will work for then too.

Top two shelves

How is that for a pile of research and writing things?

And now, if you haven't figured out the winner, it is Hannah Covington! Good job, Hannah! What would you like me to post the next two weeks? And Amber Covington only missed 3 questions! You almost won, Amber.:) I hope you enjoyed this quiz and will come back for whatever Hannah requests.

The Quiz!

Good Morning once again,
Today is rather like last week, only it is rainy instead of snow and ice. It is supposed to snow and sleet, but it hasn't yet. I haven't gotten a lot of writing done this week as for some reason I couldn't seem to get my brain to work right. Hopefully I have it fixed now.:)

I hope you are all ready for this quiz. It isn't very long, but we'll see how much you know.:) Leave you answers in the comments before next Friday. Next week I'll give you the right answers and let you know who the winner is. And just to add some fun to it, the winner will get to decide what they would like posted the following two weeks. They can choose anything from:

Poems
Short stories w/no pictures
Short stories with a picture
Meleah's Western
Something I had written when I was very young

So, if you would like to decide what you want to read, give the quiz a try. And yes, the winner could pick two weeks of the same thing.:)

Now get ready, get set, Go!

Home Fires of the Great War
Quiz

1. Where did I write most of my book?
A. At my desk
B. Outside
C. On my bed
D. On the floor

2. What time of day was most of the book written?
A. Morning
B. Evening
C. Late at night
D. Afternoon

3. Having spent five years working on my book, in which of those years did I write the most?
A. 2005
B. 2006
C. 2007
D. 2008
E. 2009

4. Which was my book written mostly with?
A. Pencil and paper
B. Pen and paper
C. Computer
D. NEO

5. Which part was the easiest to write?
A. Emma's letters
B. Maria's letters
C. The background
D. All the "letters" from everyone else

6. In doing my research I have been to:
A. Nova Scotia
B. Codell
C. France
D. None of the above

7. If I wanted to know something about my characters I would:
A. Make something up
B. Ask Mom or Sarah what they thought
C. Ask my characters about it
D. Think about it and then shrug it off

8. True or False
I always made my characters do what I wanted them to do.

9. True or False
Whenever I sat down to write, I already knew what I was going to write about.

10. True or False
My least favorite place to do research was the internet.

11. True or False
I still have stories that I didn't get to put in my book.

12. True or False
My characters were almost as real to me as my family.

13. True or False
I now have shelves of research material for WWII.

Come back next week and see how many answers you got right and who the winner is!

Neglected and Forsaken Pt. 2 (Quiz Next Week)

Good Morning Favorite Friday Fiction Fans,:)
(How's that for a good alliteration?) It looks like winter has returned to Joplin. The ground is nearly covered with white. It looked like snow earlier when it was coming down, but it also sounded like there might have been ice mixed in with it. I'm not sure what it is yet as I haven't been out.:) We had enjoyed some really pretty spring type weather for a few days, but then the cold came back.

"Home Fires of the Great War" is now being sent out to test readers.:) If you are wondering when you will get your copy to read, drop me a line, and I might be able to tell you. I only printed 6 copies for all the readers so there are several of you who will have to share. I tried to spread them out so that you won't have to wait too long. And speaking of my book, make sure you come back next week as I will be having a quiz about the writing of "Home Fires of The Great War." The winner of the quiz will get to choose what they would like posted for two consecutive weeks.:) Does that interest anyone? So be sure you come back next week and take a go at the quiz.

And now for the rest of the story started last week. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

Neglected and Forsaken
Part 2

At last the old man stood up stiffly and slowly began to make his way around the aged mine. He peered in at the empty windows, shook his head at the loose boards and sighed. Coming back to the rock, he resumed his seat where he sat motionless for some time. Finally he began to speak.
“You remember the blizzard don’t you, Frisco? That was the winter of 1884 . . .”

“I say, Joe, jest look at that snow come down, would ya?”
“I know. Ain’t it somethin’ to see! Ya know, Will, I don’t even want to try to make it back to my room at the hotel in this. It’s hard to see even the boardin’ house.”
Will took another look out the window. “Say! This ain’t jest a little snow storm. I’m thinking we’re in for a blizzard!”
The two men looked at each other. They both knew the danger of trying to go anywhere in a storm like this. The mine was closed for the winter, but Will always kept a stash of food supplies there “jest in case” he always said. Well, that “jest in case” had finally arrived.
“I reckon we might as well jest make ourselves at home an’ wait for the storm to blow over.”
Joe nodded in agreement. “It’s a good thing neither of us is married, Will.”
“How’s that?”
“Then we’d have ta try ta get home or the women folk would be all upset.” He grinned. “I know as that’s the way it is with my brother.”

The two men passed the rest of the day talking or just sitting and watching the swirling white clouds of snow out the windows. By bed time the storm showed no signs of abating, and the men rolled themselves up in blankets near the stove and slept. The next day and the next the storm raged. Drifts piled high against the sides of the mine covering up the lower windows. The men upstairs spent the time in telling stories and in game after game of checkers.

On the sixth day, the entire lower part of the mine was covered and to look out the upper windows gave the appearance of being on the lower level.
“My, this is one mean snow storm, I’m tellin’ you Joe!”
“Don’t tell me,” Joe growled, “I know. An’ I don’t mind tellin’ you that this here business of doin’ nothing but playin’ checkers, in which you always win I might add, has about drove me crazy. Can’t ya think of anything else ta do?”
Will looked thoughtful, his hand scratching his head as it did when he was thinking. Suddenly his eyes lit up. “How ‘bout we try digging a tunnel to the boardin’ house?”

The suggestion met with Joe’s instant agreement, and the two descended the stairs to the strangely dark and cold first level. After lighting one of the lanterns that was used in the mine, Will cautiously pulled open the door. A solid wall of snow stood before them. Will reached out and took a handful. With a grin he turned to Joe.
“This is the perfect kind of snow to make a tunnel in. See how well it packs?”
“Yah, but Will,” Joe put in, “What’re we goin’ to do with all the snow we dig out?”
“First we’ll fill a few pails to melt for our use. After that, well, I reckon at first we’ll have ta tote the buckets upstairs an’ dump them out the window. But that’ll only be ‘till we get a good start on it ‘cause then we can use it ta reinforce the tunnel as we go.”

It was hard, exhausting work digging that tunnel. Many times Joe paused to shake his head and mutter, “Sure glad I don’t work in the mine. Never could stand much of this type of thing.”
Will worked patiently but carefully, packing the snow firmly on all sides of the tunnel. When the two men grew too cold to work, they would retire to the upper level of the mine. And so for the next day and a half the storm raged above them as they worked on their tunnel. At last Will stopped short, cocked his head and listened.
“Say Joe, ya hear voices?”
Joe nodded, a grin spread across his face, and they both fell to work again with renewed vigor. Soon a wooded wall appeared. After an hour or two more, the door was uncovered, and they burst into the boarding house to the astonishment of the boarders. Before too long a second tunnel was started; this time heading to town. The storm was forgotten in the excitement of tunnel digging. And with more hands, this one progressed much faster. And so day followed day. The snow continued to fall and the wind continued to howl and blow, but under it all, the men and yes, even some of the brave women were digging tunnels to get about. Before the storm had stopped, nearly every building in town was connected.

The snow had reached the top of the second story windows in the mine. Will and Joe climbed up to the small window in the loft. Peering out they saw, not blowing snow, but sunshine!
“Well, I’ll be! If that ain’t the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen,” Will murmured. “What day did the storm start, Joe?”
Joe thought a moment and then gave a low whistle. “This is the twenty-third day, Will! That ought to be a record. Twenty-three days of blizzard! How much ya think got dumped this time?”
Will, who had been busy calculating as he noticed how high the snow came up on the mine, turned around. “I’d say twenty-five feet.”

The old man shook his head at the remembrance. “That sure ‘nough was quite a snow storm wasn’t it, old girl? An’ other years it was the avalanches that came down one side of those slopes,” here his gaze rose to the mountain peaks on his right, “an’ went right up that other side.” His gaze shifted to the farther side of the mountains. “They sure enough did a lot of damage to the town.”

The silence that followed was broken by the call of a bird in a nearby tree. “Well, Frisco, we’ve had many pleasant times together. This town jest never was the same after Silverton became the county seat. Them rich mine owners left Animas Forks for Silverton. An’ then, you know what happened. We watched it together. Folks just up an’ left. An’ now . . ..” The old timer’s voice trailed away. For some time he just sat there, his eyes on the old worn mine before him. At last he stood up. “I reckon I’ll be sayin’ good by now, Frisco. My nephew wants me ta go help him with his mine farther west, so I won’t be able ta come up here no more. But don’t fret, I’ll never be forgettin’ ya. So long, girl.”

It was with slow steps that the old man trudged dejectedly away towards the ramshackle log houses that used to be the town of Animas Forks. At the edge of the town, Old William Croften stopped and looked back at the timeworn Frisco Mine. He could hear faintly the creaking of her loose boards as the wind blew down on her. Slowly he turned and continued on his way. Soon he was lost to view down the obscure overgrown trail that led down the mountain.

The sun was beginning to set in a blaze of glowing colors. The twitter of birds was heard. A few small animals crept into their nests inside the old mine, and her boards creaked in the wind. Alone on the mountainside, the Frisco Mine stood like a sentry left at a forsaken post. Alone. She was forgotten by most who ever knew her. A weary, lonely sigh seemed to come from her as the darkness closed around. Would anyone ever come back to visit the old Frisco Mine? Or would she crumble into dust with no one to care?

Footnote: The story about the blizzard and tunnels is true.
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Neglected and Forsaken

Here it is yet another Friday. I sure was glad I already had this story written because I didn't write another one this week. I was working on my book. Is anyone as anxious to read my book as I am to get it out to you? I got all the corrections put in and got my revisions added. Now the "background" is on Mom's desk again waiting for her to read it. Just after I had finished the revisions for the end of the book, Mom told me she had thought of an idea for the end. But she decided to wait until she had read my end before she told me. :) I'm still looking into publishing, well I guess they are really printing houses. We'll see what happens.

I'll just post the new story now. Tell me what you think of it as it is a totally new type of story. I've never tried this kind before. And by the way, though the characters are fictitious, the events that happened are real. And since this story is more than twice the length of a Western, I'm going to give it to you in two parts.


Characters: any number
Pages: 5+ (On NEO it was 6.3 pages)
Tense:3rd
Special Instructions: Sad ending but not because of a death.
Time Given to Complete Story: 4 weeks (maybe 2 weeks)

Neglected and Forsaken

A warm breath of air blew down the mountainside stirring the grasses and causing the branches of the pine and fir trees to quiver and sway. Summer was here again. The old weathered sides of the Frisco Mine creaked while a loose shingle slid down through a hole in the roof to the floor below.

An aged man, somewhat stooped, with grey hair and whiskers and leaning heavily on a stout stick, paused before the decaying building. His breath was short and panting as though he had just made an arduous climb up the side of a steep mountain. With a trembling hand he wiped the perspiration off his face with his worn handkerchief.

“The air’s thin up here,” he muttered to himself. “Always was an’ always will be I reckon.” He looked up at the old silent building before him. “We know what it’s like, don’t we?”
A creaking board was the only answer, but that seemed to satisfy the old timer, for with a tired smile he made his way over to a rock and sank wearily down on it.

The sun shone brightly down from a pale blue sky. A few lazy clouds seemed to cling still to the mountain tops nearby as though reluctant to leave them in spite of the wind’s promise of future mountain tops. All around was quiet and still. No human voices were heard. No wagons rumbled by, No trains whistled. Everything was peaceful and serene.

Slowly, with a sigh of contentment, the old man lifted his head and looked about. A faint smile crossed his face as he gazed at the mine before him. “We’ve seen a lot, you an’ I. Haven’t we, Old Girl?” His eyes took on a far away look, and it seemed as though he could see it all again, just as it was then.


A sharp pull at the string and the whistle blew announcing noon. Men seemed to appear out of no where into the open air. A steady stream headed for the nearby boarding house. In the town, voices floated back and forth as the people headed home or to the hotel or saloon, whichever suited their fancy for their mid day meal.

William Croften leaned against the side of the mine near the whistle string he had just pulled. “It’s hard ta believe, ain’t it Frisco,” here he looked around at the sturdy walls of the mine with its gleaming glass windows and dark roof. He went on. “Hard to believe that only three years ago there was only one log cabin here abouts. An’ now in ‘76, would ya jest look at that town. I counted thirty cabins now an’ that don’t count the hotel, saloon, general store nor the post office. I reckon this is an up an’ comin’ place. But ya know, Frisco, it’s odd when ya come to think of it, jest how much the folks around here depend on your whistle.” William gave a grin, glanced at his watch and then strode off for his own cabin not far away.


A small stone rolling down the mountain brought the old man back to the present with a start. Reaching down he picked up a handful of rocks and stared at them. “I reckon you recall, old girl, the day . . .”


“Hey, Will!”
“Yah?”
“Did ya hear the news?”
“What news?” Will glanced up from his desk.
“We’ve got the highest court in the land.”
Will snorted. “Ah, you expect me to believe that, Joe? Go along with yer foolin’.”
Joe chuckled at something vastly pleasing as he dropped into an empty chair in the office of the Frisco Mine. “I ain’t foolin’ this time. That’s the sure ‘nough truth. It has ta be true, the judge jest said it.”
At his companion’s incredulous look, Joe chuckled again. “Ya should ‘ave been there at the trial, Will.”
“I know it, but the mine won’t run itself,” he glanced out the window and down towards the town. “So, what happened?”

Joe was all eager to tell. Since this was the county seat, there were many trials held there, and Joe liked nothing better than to attend them. “Some day,” he liked to tell his friend Will, “I’m going ta be a lawyer, then you be sure an’ come an’ listen to the verdict.” Since he wasn’t yet a lawyer, he had to be content with sitting in the court sessions.

“And so,” he wound up the story of the trial, “the judge fined him ten dollars and court costs. ‘Course Tom didn’t like it a bit and said he, ‘I’ll take this case to a higher court.’ He was right mad, but the judge jest looks him square in the eye an’ says cool as snow, ‘Man, there isn’t a higher court. You’ve jest been tried and found guilty in the highest court in all the United States.’ Now I call that something.” Joe paused out of breath.
Will scratched his head and frowned in puzzlement. “How’s that, Joe? I must be gettin’ slow from all this book work.”
Joe grinned. “Will, this town of Animas Forks is 11,300 feet or so above sea level. Now, do you know of any other court that is that high?”


The stooped shoulders shook with laughter, and the faded eyes grew bright with mirth. “Now that was a good one, wasn’t it, Frisco? Us, the highest court in the United States. It does beat all what folks’ll say. Of course at that time we did have, oh I reckon ‘bout four hundred-fifty people livin’ here. Speaking of the highest,” with stiff fingers the old man pulled out a yellowed paper from his jacket pocket. “You remember this here advertisement ‘bout Animas Forks, don’t ya?” After clearing his throat a few times he held the paper up and read:

“Animas Forks, the most populated town in the world.” The old man grinned and held the paper closer squinting to read the fine print under the headlines. “At this altitude.” The grin turned into a chuckle which in turn grew to a full and hearty laugh. The rocky mountain slopes tossed the laughter back and forth until it seemed that they too had joined in the joke. The old mine creaked more loudly as a stronger gust of wind swept down the mountainside.

For several minutes the old man, the mine and the mountains enjoyed their merriment.
“Well,” the man said at last, wiping his eyes, “I won’t read it all to ya as the rest of it ain’t that interesting. It’s just about the town an’ the mining of galena and that silver-bearing grey copper. But we know all about that, don’t we, old girl? Of course this is jest an advertisement for the town. I kind a wonder if anyone took any heed of it. Ya know what I mean, Frisco? Well, all I’s got to say is ‘The Animas Forks Pioneer’ was a heap more interesting to read.” Saying which he folded up the paper and stuffed it back in his pocket. “I’ve been hankerin’ for that old newspaper, but since the press closed down I’ve had to do with Silverton’s paper. But it jest isn’t the same, is it?”

The slamming of a loose board somewhere in the mine was the answer. And then followed a long silence.

Please come back next week and read the rest.

Do you like this new look? I can't decide if I do. I haven't found one that I really like.

New Total and "Meleah's Western" Part 11

Are you sure today is Friday? I think I am, but I thought yesterday was Friday. But then I was sure that Wednesday was Tuesday. I know, I'm rather mixed up. But, you would be too if you were me.:) I did realize something this week though, when we were counting books, I forgot to count the box of my books on China that were under my bed. There were 16 books in the box which brings our Grand Total up to 4,278. I don't know how many books I read last year as I haven't counted them yet. Oh, I was going to mention that while counting our books, I got to wondering about our audio books. Yes, I did count them. I only counted the unabridged books. The ones where someone is reading the entire book. We have 96 of them.:) Anyone want to listen to any?

I have been getting back into writing again and really loving it. I hadn't done any writing (except my journal) for several weeks. It was such fun to get into it. Speaking of writing, Mom finished checking "Home Fires of the Great War"! Now it is back in my court for corrections and revisions. If you want to read it soon, pray that I'll be able to get in done quickly. I am really getting excited about sending it out to all you test readers. :) If you aren't sure you are on my list to send it to, feel free to drop me a note asking for a copy. I will warn you, however, you will have to share the copy with others as I don't have the money to print a copy for each of you. After all the book is only 35 chapters long.:}

Okay, you are either reading through this part very quickly to get to the story, or you skipped it, or you came back and are reading this after you read the Western. I have wondered what most people do. I suppose I'll never find out. But, here is Part 11 of "Meleah's Western."

Part 11

The words died on the air, and all remained still in the cabin. Sally took half a step forward, cocking her head, listening.
“Sally?” The call came again somewhat hesitantly. This time there was no doubt in Sally’s mind, for with quick feet she crossed the cabin and reached the door.
“Mr. Harnnard, ya scared us. Do come in, quick.”

As the door shut behind the newcomer, Ty and Carson put up their weapons. There was no need for them now. Mr. Harnnard was a short man with grey hair and beard. His face was leathery from spending so much of his life out in the elements. He walked with a slight limp and began talking right away.
“The missus gave me no peace ‘till I said I’d ride out an’ see how you an’ yer pa was gettin’ along.” He paused at sight of the empty bed. Then turning, he noticed for the first time the two other men in the room. “Why if’n it ain’t Ty! When did ya get in boy?” Not giving anyone a chance to answer he kept right on. “Ya know ya can’t stay here. But I’m mighty glad ta see ya, an’ I’ll give ya some advice; leave jest as soon’s ya can.”
Ty interrupted, “An’ why should I be goin’ so soon? Is word ‘round that I’m back?”
Mr. Harnnard shook his head. “No, no, not for a certainty, but I heard some of them talkin’ last night at Sam’s saloon an’ they’re plannin’ ta come out here tonight jest ta see if yer back.”
“What would happen if he weren’t here?” Carson asked.
“They plan on watchin’ all the trails ‘til he does come. I tell ya, Ty,” Mr. Harnnard shook his head. “I don’t know what it is that has got them all so riled ‘bout you, an’ I don’t want ta know, but if I was you, I’d get out right quick. An’ I’d stay away. Least ways ‘till we get ourselves a sheriff.”
Ty and Carson exchanged glances.
“How much time have we got?”
“Oh, I reckon not more’n four or five hours. They won’t come ‘till it’s dark, for fear they’d be shot if’n ya was here. If’n ya ask me, I’d say it would be good riddance if they was. Ya can leave Sally with me an’ the missus till ya can send for her. I don’t reckon they’ll be a botherin’ us.”
Sally was about to protest strongly, but the pressure of her brother’s hand on her arm restrained her.
“Thank ya for the offer, but Sally goes with me. With Pa gone, I’m all the kinfolk she knows.”
Mr. Harnnard shrugged. “Suit yerself. I reckon I ought ta be movin’ on. When did yer Pa--?” he hesitated slightly.
Ty answered in a quiet voice, “Two nights ago.”
“I’m sorry ‘bout that. Now, ya’d best get a move on if ya aim ta be gone.” Mr. Harnnard stepped outside, mounted his horse and turned to leave. “Jest be careful what tracks ya leave, fer there’s no tellin’ but they’ll try trackin’ ya.” With this parting advice the old man rode off through the woods.

Silence fell among the inmates of the little cabin that lasted for several minutes. No one spoke as they looked at one another. At last Ty broke the stillness.
“Well, I reckon we’d best get ta packin’.”

All was business then as Sally and Ty worked to pack such things as wouldn’t bear leaving behind. With great care and tenderness Sally wrapped the old family Bible in a quilt she had made.
“Ty,” she questioned, “where are the locket and picture?”
“I have them safe,” he replied softly.
“Where?”
“The locket’s on my watchguard an’ the picture ‘s here in my pocket.” He noticed Sally’s face grow grave, and he rightly guessed why, for he said, “When we reach a place ta stay the rest of the winter, I’ll carve a locket for ya to carry the picture in.”
Sally didn’t reply in words, but her smile was all her brother needed.

For an hour the three worked steadily. At last all was ready. Carson brought the horses around, and he and Ty tied the packs on the extra horse.
“Let’s get a move on now,” Ty ordered preparing to help his sister mount.
“Jest a minute, Ty,” she paused and looked up at him. “I want a gun.”
Ty’s eyes opened and his jaw dropped though he said not a word.
“Give me Pa’s six shooter, Ty. I’m a dead shot with that. I don’t aim ta be ridin’ round the country with no way ta defend myself. ‘Sides that, it would be a might easier if’n I could jest hand ya a gun ‘stead of ya havin’ ta try ta find it.”
Carson’s dry chuckle sounded. “Give her the gun, Ty. I reckon she’s got jest as much right ta it as either of us. An’ if’n she can shoot as straight as yer pa used ta brag she could, it’d be a shame to lose her skill if’n it comes to a shoot-out.”

Sally smiled as she buckled on her father’s six-shooter and mounted her horse. She was a good shot, her father having taught her almost as soon as he had taught Ty. She hated killing anything though she had done it many times to provide food or to defend herself. Never once, however, had she even pointed a gun at another human being, and she wondered if she would have the courage to do so if the need arose.

“Let’s ride!” Carson and Ty nudged their horses and headed east with the pack horse following. Sally cast one last long look at the cabin where she had spent all the known years of her life; the cabin where she and Ty had grown up together, and the cabin where their father had drawn his last breath. Would she ever see it again?

Does anyone have any questions? I'm thinking I'm going to need some soon.