Mighty glad you
stopped by. Take a few minutes to look around my little spread. We've
got some mighty interesting things going on here at Dusty's place.
Hope you'll look
over my books while you're here. You can
even read enough to whet your appetite. Then, if'n you're a mind,
you can even buy your own and read "the rest of the story."
By clicking on that ugly cowboy (no-not Dusty, the other ugly one) you can learn
more about Dusty than you probably wanted to know.
got a question or two you're just itching to ASK
OLD DUSTY. Well, just click on either the link or the COWBOY
ON THE HORSE and drop me a line. Soon as I get the chores done around
the house I'll shore get back to
you. Course you'll have to stop back by again to see what I said
(he-he-sneaky ain't I?)
One more thing.
When you're all through looking around the place, come on back, pour
yourself a cup of leftover coffee and have a seat around the campfire.
Old Dusty will spin you a yarn about times that are gone forever
but will never be forgotten the old west.
After burying their parents, the three young Isom brothers faced starvation. Desperate and penniless, they set out in search of work. Their long, difficult journey forces them to discover themselves, and the harsh reality of life in the late 1800's.
With hard work, determination, and a dream, they emerge as one of the greatest success stories of the old west.
A cold, icy wind from the north drove a thick mixture of sleet and rain before it and soaked everything in its path. It formed a crusty-white covering for the already hard-frozen ground. A dark cloud shrouded the boot heel of Missouri and threatened even harsher weather.
A small gathering of eight folks huddled close and shivered under the bitter wind.
Frank, Bob, and Jesse Isom stood at the foot of the grave, hatless; their long, scraggly hair dripped half-frozen drops of water. Their soppy-wet clothes clung to their work-hardened frames like a second skin. Beneath their frozen whiskers their faces were somber, with blue lips lined thin to hold back the sobs that threatened to erupt. Tears seeped from their eyes as they watched the plain wooden coffin lowered into their mother’s final resting place.
Jubal Hawk was bone tired.
He slouched his tall, six foot frame wearily in his McClellan saddle and heeled his weary buckskin, Buck, to pick up the pace as he drew near the entrance to the long, winding lane that led to his home—home—just the thought of being back home sent a surge of overwhelming emotion rushing through him.
"The mere mention of the name sent shivers of fear through all who heard it. Whether spoken in a hushed whisper or screamed as a terrified warning, it sent wide-eyed terror through all those who dared speak or hear the name."
Rebekah had never seen her husband cry—until now.
She watched as Buck unashamedly hugged his brother again and again, each time shaking his head in absolute amazement and visible joy.
Several times she saw him try to put his feelings into words, but each time the words lodged in his throat and choked back, causing him to shake his head and lower his face.
Shawgo fingered the Texas Ranger badge that was pinned to his shirt, for perhaps the last time, as he reined up in front of the Ranger headquarters.
He had wrestled with his decision to resign from the Rangers the entire six weeks it took to recover from his encounter with Scarface. He still walked with a limp in his left leg and most likely would for the rest of his life.
"How many did they kill?" the young deputy asked breathlessly, as he hurried up to Ed Reed.The wiry old town marshal was emerging from the bank.His sundarkened skin was cooked to the color of his hard, gray eyes--eyes that had seen the worst the criminal element had to offer in his thirty years in law enforcement.
In the early 1870’s, the young state of Texas was struggling to survive. Its vast, undeveloped land of over 260 thousand square miles became a haven for the lawless. Murderers, rustlers and renegade bands of hostile Indians and Comanchero roamed the vast wastelands of west Texas with only a narrow river separating them from the sanctuary of Mexico.One group of dedicated lawmen stood between this lawless element and the law-abiding citizenry—the Texas Rangers. This is the story of one of those men.
As Cody stood there in the middle of the dusty street, facing the most deadly gunfighter alive, the words of his old blind Mexican mentor, the man that taught him everything he knew about the gunfighter profession, flashed from his memory.
it justice, or was it revenge? What drove Matt Henry to set out on
the trail of a band of ruthless killers that brutally raped and murdered
his wife and slit his small son's throat from ear to ear ...?