To help celebrate
here’s an outtake from White Savage, my first release through MuseItUp
Publishing, and old fashion western, packed with action and sprinkle through
with a sweet romance. A blurb first, to give you a feel for the story, followed
by an extra scene between secondary characters not in the book.
No one knew how long the
Indians had the boy only that it had been too long for Jimmy to learn to be
white again. After being locked in their jail, beaten, and chained as a child
he returns ten years later, to be hunted as a thief, murderer, and kidnapper. His
name was Clay. The Hoodys called him, Jimmy, the White Savage. On the run Clay
is pushed into proving there’s a savage in all of us, but is the woman a
captive? Or did she go of her own free will to help the White Savage?
Sam, the marshal’s
Indian tracker, and Joey go to town to send a secret telegraph:
The trip to town
seemed be boring to Sam, but Joey was on tender hooks the whole time. He
never believed they’d get in and out without being seen, but with Sam's patient
guidance, he learned a passel of new tricks. More importantly, he learned
quite a bit about Sam, the most pleasant being that Sam had a tremendously
entertaining sense of humor.
Sam had explained
stoically that what he wanted to do was a diversion, so he could go into the
telegraph office unseen, but Joey saw through that. No diversion had to
be done that way. A fire in the barn at the other end of town would have
probably gotten just as many folks looking the other way, kept them busy too,
putting it out, and making sure none of the horses burnt up, but it wouldn’t
have been as funny. And Sam let him be the one to do it, then stay and
watch the fun.
Joey figured they
laid there for hours. Sweat trickled down his back tickling him, flies
kept landing on his face, and he was sure ants were crawling up his pant
legs. He wanted to swat flies, rub his shirt on the sweat, and stomp the
ants out of his pants, but Sam told him to lie still, so he did.
Sam laid there the
whole time they waited as passive as a man carved out of wood. If a fly
crawled into Joey’s eye, he cringed, squeezing his eyes closed till it moved
away. Those flies were the worst. Half a dozen times, Joey nearly
let go and swatted at them. When he figured he just couldn’t stand it
anymore, he stood it just one more time, and it paid off. Someone finally
came out, his pa, following the path to the outhouse.
“You go quiet
now. Meet me here, ten minutes,” Sam told him, rising to his knees then
slipping off without a sound.
Joey picked up the
staff Sam had picked for the job and slipped off sounding, to his disgust, like
a herd of horses compared to the way Sam moved. But his pa didn’t hear
him, not till he slammed the end of the staff he carried under the handle of
the outhouse door and rammed the other end tight into the ground with his foot.
Noah yelled,
demanding to know who was out there. He shoved the door and yelled again,
shaking at it from inside. Joey giggled as he backed off, then he added a
touch of his own. He struck a match and dropped it in a pile of dried
brush nearby.
When Joey got back
to the observation spot and dropped back to his belly to watch, he saw he’d
started more than he’d intended, but boy, was it funny.
Josh ran out of the
house to see what his pa was yelling about. He saw the fire, ran back to
the house, forgetting all about getting Pa out of the outhouse. He ran
into Jeremiah, standing in the way to watch the fire. Jeremiah got shoved
and had a bucket slammed against his chest. Josh ran back for another
bucket, Jeremiah scooped his full of water in the nearby horse trough, threw it
on the fire, then collided with Josh on the way for another. The whole
time, Noah was screaming bloody murder, pounding on the outhouse door to be let
out.
Everyone in town
came running, some grabbing up buckets, and others trying to kick the stick
loose that Joey had wedged against the door. Josh finally took that over
and stomped it to snap it in two. Noah came tumbling out just as the
flames reached it and started licking up the side.
The strangest thing
happened then. Joey never knew before that something like that could
happen, but he sure would remember it. The outhouse blew up. Just
plain blew up like someone had tossed a stick of dynamite in it. Josh and
Noah were knocked flat and bits and pieces of wood rained down on them.
“Go,” Sam said,
making Joey jump. “Now.”
“Did ya see
that? It blew up, just plain blew up.”
“No think of
that. Good joke,” Sam said before trotting off.
“Yeah, but what
made it blow up?” Joey asked, panting as he ran to keep up.
“Gas from
stink. White man dumb, all the time put in same place. Make stink
bad.”
“Yeah,
guess…gues…we ought ta…bury it like…a cat.”
“No
difference. All go back to dirt. You work too hard to run. Do
like this.”
Sam showed him, and
Joey learned. The jog-trot was easier, but he was still winded when they
got back to the horses. That didn’t keep him from talking.
“Never seen
anything blow up like that. Did you see the look on Pa’s face? Boy,
was he mad.”
“Make you happy,
see mad?”
“It sure
does. I caught him with his pants down,” he said and giggled.
“How old you?” Sam
asked, swinging up on his horse’s back, Indian style with a handful of mane and
without use of stirrups.
“I wish I could do that,”
Joey said in admiration. He stepped up in the stirrup to his
saddle. “I’m twenty-three.”
Joe shook his head
sadly, kicked his horse forward and said, “You no learn much all that time.”
“Pa wouldn’t let
us. Would ya teach me how to mount like that?”
“You Pa bad
man. Maybe kill him.”
“If you don’t, Jim
will,” he said with a shrug. “Will ya teach me?”
“Maybe. Right
now find where McGee find track.”
“I can show ya
where I lost him. That’d help, wouldn’t it?”
So Joey learned
some about tracks. When Sam found where McGee left the posse’s trail,
following the tracks he recognized, Clay’s horse, he headed them back to
Te’s. Joey badgered him with questions until he finally said, “Sam tired.
Want sleep now.”
“While ya ride?”
“Horse follow
yours,” he said, settling himself to a slump of careful balance.
“Sam, how come ya
talk ta me like that? Figure I’m too dumb?”
“Sam too tired
think all words. Sleep now, talk later.”
Joey’s problem, the
one causing the incessant rattling, was two-fold. He had gone without
sleep long enough that he was rummy, and like a lot of people, the more tired
he got, the more wound up. The second was that never in his life had he asked
anyone questions that answered him with more than shut-up. Seemed like it
to him anyway, and not only was Sam willing to answer him, he gave smart
answers.
He was silent all
of three seconds. “How’d ya know Jim’d go back the Plotts ranch if ya
didn’t know Johns was there?”
“This Indian
tired. You talk now, no teach later.”
“Ah, Sam, I was
just wondering. She seems mighty fond of him, worried like. I just
wondered if he liked her, too.”
“No teach,” Sam
warned again without a change in his position.
“Okay, I don’t
wanna make ya mad. I was just wonder—I’ll shut up, promise.”
Sam let his chin fall
to his chest with a slight smile on his face.
Watch for my next
western, Tarbet, coming next year, one of many to be released through MuseItUp
under both of my pens. Two names, one author, thousands of stories. Read about
them all at: http://www.larriane.com
