Showing results by author "Pale Horse Publications" in All Categories

The Liver Eater hid in the bushes even as he eyed his prey. He had hunted many things in his 40-something years, but he had never hunted anything as vicious as the men he was stalking now. The Liver Eater was stalking members of the Crow tribe, and they were the most vicious and dangerous of all his prey. He had stayed hidden for what was easily hours on end, but he did not complain, nor did he feel sore. No, his body and senses had been used to such hardship, living alone off the land and making do with what he had. Hiding behind bushes and waiting to strike was nothing.

Eli Jefferson left his home in Sweetwater, Texas, intent on doing as a good son should, and helping to raise the money his father needed to pay the upcoming bank note. After finishing a cattle drive and earning the money needed, Eli set out for home, ecstatic. As he neared home, Eli was bushwhacked by an unknown gunman. The bullet creased his head and left him with amnesia. With no memory of who he was, he stumbled unknowingly on the burned remnants of his family’s ranch. His mother and father had both been brutally murdered, and the cattle stolen.

Saddle up, and ride the same, wild, lonesome trails as Texas Ranger Branch Logan did, in the 1870’s through the 1890’s! Long and lean, with a heart as big as Texas sky, Ranger Logan traveled throughout the territories of the Southwest, during the height of America’s expansion. From rough and tumble, gold and silver mining country; to savage, wide-open high plains, the Ranger pursued outlaws and rustlers, extending the rule of law. Feel the dry heat of hot desert floors, and the bitter cold of snow-covered mountain passes, as he gets shot, survives, and goes after lawless men.

Wind River, is a tale of the Sioux uprising along the Big Wind River, and in the Wind River Valley, the Indians call, "Valley of the Warm Winds". The Wind River is in the territory of Wyoming, and this story is a fictional tale from the year of 1868. The main character, Jeb Winslow is thrust into the survival against the Sioux, Cheyenne, Arapaho, Pawnee, and Ute Indians. He is a mountain man who was attacked with two of his friends, both were killed, and he was only wounded but, played dead. The Sioux stole their furs, beaver pelts, horses, and a mule, leaving him for dead.

Amos Well drew his huge Bowie knife. The knife's edge glistened against the rays of the sun. He then cut a fine incision through one of Haynes' arms. Haynes screamed, as the blade cut through his flesh. Blood spurted out of the wound. Well's knife was drenched in blood now, but he would not cut anymore. 

After three years of conducting a vengeance trail against the Sioux and Cheyenne when his parents were killed up on the Medicine Bow, Lin Allan Cooper finally came back to the place he now calls home, North Ridge, New Mexico, only to find the ranch that he and his best friend Frank Shimmer had built from the ground up had been bought by another party who paid past-due tax debts, as well as an overdue mortgage. Stage holdups, murder, and a personal vendetta against Coop, as he was called, were carried out. 

It took Beacher longer than he figured to find the Colorado River. By the time he made camp, the sun was at the west back. “Just right,” he said to himself. He cut some bank poles, and found some toad frogs. “The smaller ones work better,” Beacher thought. “Now, all I need are some hooks and line, with no weights. Just run your hook under the frog’s backbone, near his hind legs, and he won’t bleed a bit. He’ll swim toward the bank all night.” Tolbert knew that the forked-tail catfish was a top-feeder, unlike the round-tail, yellow catfish, which fed off the bottom.

Brett Smith arrives home after serving as a Union officer during the Civil War to find his family being forced off their land by some ruthless gun hands. By a twist of fate, he becomes a US marshal; his job is to clean up a town and bring law and order to the area. Little does he know when he accepts the position his job will put him face-to-face with a notorious killer wanted for war crimes. Now his job is to protect him from an angry mob of vengeful citizens who want to hang his prisoner and others who want to see the man freed. 

John J. Law was a writer of tall tales with an interest in the facts and real life adventures of a rare breed of man, the mountain man. He finds himself in the Shoehorn Saloon, somewhere between Wyoming and nowhere, when he is approached by the one true mountain man he’d heard so many stories about. Francis Santana. Francis began to ramble long into the night about his exploits as a trapper and explorer. He went into detail about a lot of his adventures, and the exact chronology of the events described herein are probably doubtful, at best.

Jud Low had been through his share of hard times and troubles. He’d seen his friend killed, the ranch and cattle stolen. But Jud and his partner, Ted Lewis, had taken revenge for their friend and gotten his life’s work back. Now, all Jud wanted to do was have a dance with a pretty new waitress that had come to town. Getting together a dance at the last minute wasn’t easy, but Jud managed it. The dance with the new waitress, Nancy, lasted longer than he’d bargained for, with her returning to the ranch with him.

Milton "Frisky" Farraday grinned as he set the bags of bills on the wooden table. The creaky old wooden table shook, as the money bags were slammed on them. His breath reeked of tobacco, whiskey, and rotten teeth. Frisky had several rows of teeth missing that his boys often wondered how he even managed to chew on food at all. They wondered to themselves, but they didn’t bring it up to Frisky, unless they wanted to risk getting lead poisoning from one of his peacemakers.

Atticus Boone crouched and bent over, taking a good look at Cyrus Blaine. He looked at him in the eye, closely. “Looking at you now, I sense a striking resemblance.” Atticus looked at Cyrus with much curiosity, as a child would look at an ant through a magnifying glass. He couldn’t believe what his eyes showed him. It was as if he were looking through a cracked mirror. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Cyrus said. For the bounty hunter, the outlaw in front of him was making no sense and was simply mocking him.

Jud Low was 18 years old, from the East, and as green as could be when his father decided to pull up stakes and set them on the Oregon Trail. Not far from Abilene, Kansas, the two were put out of the wagon train after Jud’s father got into an argument with the wagon master. They headed south. Not long after, Jud found himself alone, his father having frozen to death during a cold winter night. He made his way south and stumbled onto a small cattle ranch, finding himself a job and a great friendship. When his new friend is murdered and robbed, Jud finds himself forced to become a man.

“They killed Dean. He was just a boy,” the engineer said. “Ain't nothin' we can do about that now,” Herb said. “I'm sorry mister, but believe it or not, we didn't want it to end that way. We just wanted the railroad company's money for a good cause and that's just what we're going to get now.” The old man scowled at Carlson. “So you wanted the company's money for a good cause, eh? And what might that ‘good cause’ be, eh? To make yourselves richer?” Carlson shook his head and smiled at the old engineer. “You wouldn't understand.”

He stood over a naked corpse that was lying on a slab. The poor dead man had no tattoos and judging by his complexion was no Indian. He was probably some unidentified Confederate soldier or something. Chuck pondered this for a moment. The man was once alive, and had probably seen his fair share of violence in life. Now, he was dead, and his corpse was being used to educate doctors, practitioners of a field that was still in its infancy. It was quite morbid and exciting at the same time.

Lincoln Dollar heard the jeers of the men in front of him. He felt the noose tightening around his neck. He felt his breath come in painfully short gasps. Lincoln could not move his head to stare down at his tormentors. His boots dangled a few feet from the ground. The noose around his neck seemed to tighten with every second that passed, only increasing his already intense agony.

It had been a long ride and when Judson Law saw the small frontier town on the horizon, his spirits lifted. He was exhausted from riding for so long, and a small room with a bed would be very welcome for him. It had only been less than a week since Judson made good on a bounty and earned a decent sum. The money he had earned would be enough for a bed, and a drink. If he were lucky at cards, perhaps the amount could be stretched a good bit. "Ain't that town a lovely sight for my sore eyes. Might as well ride on towards it, and make myself at home".

That got me to thinking. What if Beacher remembered my name was Horton, not Tolbert? And, what would he do if he found out I had shot my superior officer and deserted the Army? I was probably reported missing in the Indian fight and presumed dead. A lot of them fort Captains left missing men on their pay roster and collected the wages themselves. They considered it as their retirement fund. They’d just give the pay master a nice raise and if he didn’t want to, they’d just reassign him to the next Indian raid.

Like most great legends of the West, no one really knew who Kid Dangerous was, or where he truly came from. His real name was shrouded in mystery, forever lost in the mists of time, and ultimately, forgotten. What was remembered, however, were his deeds - and the consequences of his actions. For that, he was known as Kid Dangerous, a young man that brought death, danger, and gun-smoke wherever he went. This tale is all about one of the kid's adventures, before he made a name for himself. It was, in many ways, one of the many adventures that led to him becoming a legend.

The mountains of the American West held many treasures. Precious metals such as gold and silver was taken from the land and the streams by the miners. Animals who’s pelts were prized back East was taken from the forest and the streams by the fur trappers. Some men even found the beauty and solitude of the mountains to be their greatest treasure. This is the story of a man who found his to be what so many others had passed over in their search. His was the land itself.