Category: Western

  • Drifts

    The horses had died hours before, their bodies mounded beneath the relentless onslaught of snow. The man’s grim face turned back to the small clearing where his family waited. He saw their forms huddled near a meager fire, the glow barely piercing the veil of the blizzard.

  • Old Hand

    Tom Allister rode up the winding trail that led to his father’s mountain ranch. The day had been long, and the sun was beginning its slow descent, slipping away into that unknowable world beyond the horizon. A sky heavy with the weight of coming rain hung overhead, pressing down like the ache of unspoken words.…