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Tall Tales from Western Trails
C.Y. CORBETTas narrated by Jackson 'Buck' James
Keerful, now - Don’t believe everything ya read in print.
here's a brief into to my anthology of short stories:
TALL TALES from WESTERN TRAILS
The stories in this journal were related to me by an old fellow name of Jackson ‘Buck James, who lived the life and times described in these chronicles. Buck was a lover of life and a storyteller, par excellence …. which means it didn’t ever take much to get him into a storytelling frame of mind. He collected stories like some people collect stamps or sports memorabilia. Buck’s memorabilia is all about life in the early days of settling the western territories. He avows that these events actually happened and, to a point, I believe him, although some of these tales may be a little ‘taller’ than others. Their veracity, dear reader, I leave to you to decide. - Editor
Table of Contents:Page 2 Harvey Miner and the ToadPage 11 An Unfortunate FellaPage 25 The Inheritance of Daisy PearlPage 42 The Hauntin’ of Curley Joe, Part 1 [according to Curley]Page 61 The Hauntin’ of Curley Joe, Part 2 [according to the Ghost]Page 71 A Misunderstandin'
Copyright C.Y.Corbett 2019
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]
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