Here's an excerpt from one of the Tall Tales:

AN UNFORTUNATE FELLA

I was drawin wages at a ranch jist outside a Bisbee, Arizona, back when the Parker House burnt ta the ground. A coupla other ranch hands an meself was stayin at the Bisbee Palace t’other end a town after a satisfyin day a paintin the town red. The sudden clangin of alarms startled us outa a sound sleep jist afore the sun come up – which warnt long after our heads had hit them feather pillas. 

Before ya knowed it, every able-bodied man in town, an a goodly buncha wimmin alongside em, was out ther with buckets in ther hands fightin that conflagration. It warnt so much that the Parker House was worth savin; in fact it was my opinion ta let the whole shebang burn ta the ground, it was that unsavory a place. But it wouldn’ta tooken much more than a spark ta set every danged one a them wooden clapboard buildins in the settlement ablaze, an it only made sense that every propity owner in town would be out with a bucket pertectin his own investment.

Tooken only about fifteen minutes till the roof caved in an th’ only part a the hotel left standin was the brick an mortar chimley … not ta mention th’ unmentionable outhouse out back. 

Ol’ man Parker an his wife, Myrtle, th’ owners a the Parker House, was circulatin amongst the crowd searchin fer those what had bin stayin the night, makin sure ther registered guests was all accounted fer; an they was – all but one: that danged fool Eastern dude who claimed ta be a writer an a important historian.

Wal, when the Parker House roof caved in an that dude still warnt nowheres ta be found, we all figgered the pore soul had ta be a goner an we was all feelin mighty sorry fer th’ unlucky fella when he made a unexpected appearance.

Behind where the Parker House had stood ther was a ol’ dilapitated outhouse, as I sez, set ther ta serve the customers a the hotel. Jist as the last bucket a water got tossed on the smokin embers that outhouse door swung wide an ther stood th’ Eastern dude hisself, tuckin his shirttails inta his britches an blinkin at the brightness a the mornin sunrise. Turns out he had gone inta that broke down shanty afore turnin in fer the night an had fallen asleep – dead ta the world until the commotion started up with the bucket brigade. Saved by the privy, he missed the whole hullabaloo. The look a surprise on the dude’s face ta see the hotel burnt ta the ground was somethin comical.

[If you enjoyed this excerpt … order the anthology of all six stories from Amazon.com … or Amazon.ca for my Canadian contacts]