Half a Mile from Tucson (eBook)
198 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-6678-9788-2 (ISBN)
"e;Half a Mile from Tucson"e; is a captivating novel set in the early 20th century, as the West was experiencing a significant transformation, marked by the end of the Civil War and the completion of the transcontinental railroad in 1869. Against this backdrop, we follow the lives of two men, Jack Straw and Shannon, whose paths cross in the Arizona and New Mexico territories. Jack Straw, a former cowboy turned miner, is struggling to make ends meet in a town where the mining trade is dwindling. Shannon, on the other hand, is a traveler from the East looking for a new life in the West. As they journey together along the Southern Pacific, they traverse cow towns, saloons, and hotels, all while trying to find their place in a changing world. The novel is a thrilling tale of adventure and friendship, as the two men navigate the perils of the Western landscape and discover their true destinies. Against the backdrop of the expanding railroad and the changing West, the story highlights the indomitable spirit of the American West and the resilience of those who sought to build new lives in this untamed territory. Overall, "e;Half a Mile from Tucson"e; is a must-read for anyone interested in the history and mythos of the American West. With its vivid descriptions, well-drawn characters, and compelling narrative, it captures the essence of a pivotal moment in American history and brings it to life in a way that is both entertaining and thought-provoking.
2: Steins
Splinters of light dwarfed a distant framework of peaks, beams of sun expanding over ancient crags. Jack and Shannon sat and gazed at this sight. Jack rested his chin on his closed fist and he leaned into a stiff wind the train began to carry. Shannon pointed out toward the playa where veins of light reflected off what was left of the alkaline lake. Passing the clay and saltbush, the train shook birds foraging in that waste, sprinkling into the sky and dispersing down again over the playa. Jack closed his eyes and felt wind over his nose. His lids opened slowly to find dusk impeding the country. The steam whistle blew.
Shannon said, “The train is slowing.”
“It is. Could only mean one place.”
“That is?”
“Steins.”
“You been?”
“Of course. Mighty good shot this train coming to a stop in Steins.”
Shannon inched toward the edge and held tight on to his hat as he stuck his head out of the box.
“No lights? This Steins another burg?”
“Can’t call it that. Mining stop. This box might fix to take on cargo.”
“Best get off then. Bed down for the night.”
“I recall some shacks in back of the main buildings. Abandoned usually. Sure to get cold up here.”
“Aye, you know the way?”
Jack nodded.
As the train climbed out of the playa and up into the Peloncillo, a blue shadow fell on the expanse before them. The air took a chill and the slow speed of the train did not alter the bitterness of the wind that whipped into the empty boxcar. Shannon buttoned his overcoat. Jack followed suit, securing the filthy denim over his frame. The clanking of the tracks gave way to the whine of cylinders.
Shannon said, “Get ready to go on my word.”
Jack spat. The darkness complete. The faint presence of light flashed between cars as the train pulled in. Freight filled with ore bound for El Paso stretched far over the pass. A deep blow of the whistle bounced off the towering rock walls surrounding the station. The iron beast slugged to a stop and the brakemen yelled down the line. Voices could be heard along with banging of doors.
Jack whispered, “What time you make it to be?”
“Nighttime. Hold still. Not a muscle.”
The brakes hissed as some viper would and silence fell on the line.
Shannon turned to Jack. “Follow my lead. When we reach the clear. You show the steps.”
“Agreed.”
The endless lines of freight cars only offered one route to the town proper. Shannon led Jack beneath the gondolas, stopping once to wait on a brakeman walking past, who whistled as he swung a lantern at his side, the light dissipating into a cold air filled with smell of hard earth and sulfur. Under a final car, the men skittered on their haunches into a retention ditch. Two brakemen saw them from a distance but made no attempt to harangue the illegal fares other than to stretch a lantern toward the dark figures.
Jack said, “Them boys saw us.”
“No matter. Keep moving.”
The moon rose over Steins’s peak. The night offered little cover as they emerged from the thick mesquite that guarded that section of track. Banging metal pierced the stillness of the mountain pass. Three men shoveled manure into a wagon. Each stopped as the travelers walked by. Frosted lights behind foggy windows decorated the evening and like beasts to a desert watering hole, they found themselves standing in front of a saloon. A Mexican leaned against a support beam on the porch. His hands stuck in his pockets. He smiled.
“Tobacco, por favor?”
Jack shrugged, “Ain’t got none.”
The Mexican stood grinning. They lingered on the porch.
Shannon said, “Looks rather lively. Shall we?”
“Let me see. Got some coin. Enough for drink here but liable to spend it all.”
Shannon scratched the stubble showing on his check. He rubbed his hands together and blew. “We will have to worry about that later. Come on. I have a thirst to speak to.”
Jack entered first. Few inside bothered to notice as the town grew accustomed to strange pilgrims down the iron highway. The beer presented was devoid of any palatable taste but it was stony and cleared dust from the throat. A corn whiskey was called for. Down it went bitter, with the impression of ethanol. They soon drew the attention of a Southern Pacific officer who walked over and leaned against the bar.
“Seen you men come in. The name’s Paul. Thought you might answer a question for me. Do either of you happen to be aware of the penalty a man can face trespassing on company property?”
Shannon stood stiff, paying little attention. He glanced at Paul, gulped his liquor and blew the residue from his bottom lip. He wiped his face on his greasy sleeve.
Jack said, “As a matter of fact. We here are miners in from the Bachelor. Out of the Volcano district. Taking a break from the shafts to get a talking load on is all.”
Paul eyed them and tipped his hat. As Paul stepped away the saloon keeper stood in front of them.
“Paul don’t fancy your looks.”
Jack said, “Nor I his.”
The keeper smiled. He left, returning with two small bowls of a stew.
“You both can feed on this. After you scrape the bottom, I wish you both a good evening.”
No haste was made disposing the contents of the bowls. After gathering themselves they walked out of the saloon. Paul looked after their exit and watched the men from the window in the door. Leaning against the post, the Mexican remained. He stuck his hand out and showed his palm.
“Tobacco?”
They skirted the saloon, walking further into a bevy of outbuildings. Jack pointed with his chin toward a row of ramshackle tin shelters outlining the boundary between supply and wilderness. Most dark. Some with the dim glow of candles inside. The last of the row black.
Shannon said, “This one.”
Jack reached for the handle as the door swung open, knocking his hand away.
A voice ordered, “Step on back.”
Into the moonlight appeared a shotgun pointed into Jack’s face. The moon lent a silver sparkle to the firearm. The reflection ran a line down the barrel and outlined the face of their captor. The men shot their hands up with arms bent at the elbows.
Jack said, “What do you aim to do?”
“I aim to put a hole in you. Who sent ye?”
Shannon said, “Sent us?”
“Don’t play me no fool, boy. I been expecting it. Like the Lords himself.”
The men stood as if stone of the surrounding mountains. A coyote sounded in the distance. The man with the shotgun shifted his eyes.
“I said who sent ye?”
The coyote yelped again. The man stepped forward and with that motion he lowered the shotgun.
“Ya’ll can lower ye hands.”
Shannon slowly lowered his.
Jack said, “You ain’t gonna point that thing in my face again?”
“No, sir. I give my word. I thought you were of red blood the both of you. The moon fools with my mind often. Now what in the hell do you think ye doing?”
“Looking for shelter. Last time I passed in these parts, I understood miners could find such here.”
The man tilted his eyebrow. He gestured the barrel toward Shannon.
“And what do tell is ye story?”
“Don’t have one. Looking for rest before the next train outta here.”
“Well, hold on. Hold on now.”
The man stepped backward and was again enveloped into the darkness from which he stepped. Jack motioned to Shannon. Shannon patted the air slightly and tucked the sides of his mouth down. Jack shrugged and spat. The interior of the tin hovel began to flicker. The man appeared back at the door shaking a match.
“Now my eyes tell me both ye white. Ya’ll can thank him for ye shelter has appeared.”
He then stepped back and cleared the doorway. Neither moved.
“Enter. Enter. Please. You are now my guests.”
Shannon looked over at Jack and pushed him forward. The men entered slowly. The structure consisted of tin and was patched with planks where tin was no more, each board a different shade of rot and some with faded bills posted, a series of Chinese characters stamped in a crimson ink. Weather-beaten wood sat in a pile behind the door. In the corner, a filthy mat on top of which lay a tattered King James. The walls were adorned with crania of jackrabbit, rat, and lizards of all sizes. A gila skull with beads of dried corn strung from eye sockets. Strings of jawbones dangled from a whittled staff. Assorted teeth hung like tinsel off nails, rejoicing in some demented desert rite. Jack and Shannon stood above the man as he hunched over a misshapen iron box. There he lit a fire from a mix of mesquite and pion. As the flames rose he blew into the fire. The wood responded back with smoke. He rose reaching toward the ceiling and unhinged a small trapdoor.
“Helps with the smoke,” he said and then gestured about the iron box. “Sit, ya’ll. Come on now.”
Both sat on what was nothing more than a cleared plot of desert, above which the shack was erected. The man poked at kindling with a thin iron bar and coughed. With the fire now revealing their surroundings, Jack and Shannon each could not point to the exact nature of the man’s injury. The spark of the mesquite cast lines over the folds of skin, both aged and raw, that covered his face and neck. His hands had not escaped the same fate. He sat watching the fire, rocking...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 1.5.2023 |
|---|---|
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen |
| ISBN-10 | 1-6678-9788-8 / 1667897888 |
| ISBN-13 | 978-1-6678-9788-2 / 9781667897882 |
| Informationen gemäß Produktsicherheitsverordnung (GPSR) | |
| Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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