Hollister Bootstone and The Tale Of The Narrow Escape

Somewhere In The Old West

Pete Linforth

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Hollister knew it was a mistake the moment the words left his mouth. The look of rage he encountered was unlike any he had seen before. He weighed his options. Trying to defuse the situation with more words seemed unlikely. Shooting his way out was not an option, either. That left escape as the only reasonable course of action.

Hollister’s trusty horse, Cinnabun, was nearby, but he would need a distraction to get to him unhurt. With no time to think, Hollister reacted instinctively. He dug his hands into the desert and tossed two handfuls of sand into the air while shouting, “Dust storm!”

The ruse worked for a moment, but that was all he needed. Hollister made a break for his horse. In a single leap, he was on Cinnabun and riding like the wind.

Hollister thought he had made his escape when he felt a searing pain in his back. The impact and pain nearly knocked Hollister off Cinnabun’s back, but he managed to hold on and keep riding into the night.

Hollister holed up behind some boulders to wait for daybreak. The pain was intense, but he figured if he hadn’t died yet, he might survive until he could make it to town.

The next morning, Hollister felt weak, but he climbed onto Cinnabun and said, “Take us home, boy.” Cinnabun knew the way, so Hollister hung his head and tried to get some sleep. But it was pointless. The pain was too much. Plus, he couldn’t stop thinking about what a fool he had been the night before.

The hours passed slowly, and Hollister grew weaker. After several hours, he was in the depths of despair. Then Hollister saw a rider approaching from the east, and hope arose in his heart.

Hollister approached the stranger and said, “Pardner, you’re truly a sight for sore eyes. Now, I hate to be troublin’ a complete stranger with my problems. But if I can beg your indulgence for a moment, I’d be powerful grateful if you would give that arrow in my shoulder blade a good yank. I can’t seem to get enough leverage on it.

“And here’s some free advice for ya. If you ever try courtin’ a Cheyenne woman named Falling River, it would be in your best interests to remember that her brother don’t take kindly to teasing.”

Such was life, somewhere in the Old West

Thanks for reading and responding. You make it fun.

Mark