Pearl and the Mysterious Riders.

Pearl wasn't sure why her momma had scooped her up into her arms and hurried her over the well worn porch and into the house at this time of the evening. She was usually allowed to play until she got tired ,long after darkness had claimed its rightfull place,which happened to be pretty late for a six year old.This was so unusual that after momma deposited her in her little room at the back of the rickity little wood frame building that her daddy had constructed until a proper house could be put up, she strained to see or hear something or someone from outside that might explain her sudden exclusion. Mommy had told her to be quiet,don't come out of her room until morning and her supper would soon be brought to her. Fresh eggs from the hiding places that her crafty little hens used to deposit their prospective chicks ,(that she would invariably find),a potato from the root cellar and a nice big slice of peach pie her mommy had made was soon set ,steaming,on the small table by her bedside. She sure enjoyed mommy's cooking and knew that she made the best peach pie in Stringtown.

As she ate,her thoughts went again to this unusual situation in which she found herself. Sunlight had not yet hidden behind the coast range to the west, when mommy brought her in---she had heard horses in the distance --sounded like maybe six to eight. They soon came galloping right up to the place where the water tank sat between the barn and the little house and dismounted.She could tell the riders had pushed their mounts hard --the horses were restless-- snorting and shuffling around the water tank but had yet to drink. Some of the riders,eight of them as she had thought,were milling around slapping her dad ,Joel,on the back or shaking his hand and others had respectfully removed their hats and were addressing her mom ,Genup,in quiet tones. Pearl had lowered the wick on the kerosene lamp that was perched on one of the trunks that had come out from Missouri years before and in the darkness of her little room she could see through the small window that the riders were gathering some wood for a fire. When a small campfire was made the riders settled in and began to eat the vittles mommy had brought to them. There were seven riders sitting around the fire eating and talking to daddy in low voices accompanied by subdued gestures.. Where was the other rider ,she wondered. When her eyes adjusted to the dark,she could see the man off in the distance in a stand of cottonwoods with a rifle ,looking in the direction from which they had ridden. Odd,she thought.Weren't they going to let him eat?Had he done something wrong?

After some time,one of the men at the fire picked up his rifle and went off into the dark and the other man that had done something wrong came in ,sat down and began to eat. After all the men ate,they shared some shine daddy had bought from a neighbor and the noise level picked up some. Eventually,the men began to get their bedrolls from their saddles and started to settle in around the small fire for the night. Even after they all seemingly went to sleep for the night,there was always a man down by the cottonwoods with a rifle. Pearl guessed that more than one of them had done something wrong and had to suffer,as she did when she had to sit in the corner at school for some real or imagined slight to her teacher.

Soon it became too much for a little girl to keep her eyes open any longer ,so Pearl went to sleep on her pallet,still not knowing what to think about this strange and interesting night.

When she asked her mommy who the riders were and where they went--she was told in no uncertain terms to NEVER--EVER mention that night again.

She didn't --until one day my grandmother Pearl told me when I was 21 and she was nearing eighty years old----about the night the Dalton gang from Missouri came to her house in 1890.To a place where the Daltons and the James gang were welcome.

 

This is the kind of fun tale that can really draw in a reader, wondering what will happen next. You could even expand it into a longer piece, I think. The moment is strong enough to sustain it.

I think it would be helpful to give a little background on the gang, and what was going on this particular night, and why they were there. You built up good dramatic tension, but then you leave us hanging!

This has the makings of a really good story.

A couple of gentle suggestions ...

1. Your paragraphs are a little dense, visually. Maybe you could break them up a bit more.
2. You should put a space after commas and at the beginning of sentences. Sometimes you do, but you're inconsistent.

 

Thanks.I'll try and remember that.Did you mean double space or too wordy. This is a true story,but I'm sure I could make some stuff up and carry it on out.

 

PS=enjoyed the monkey story.

 

I mean break up the paragraphs, so there's not such long dense pieces of text.

As far as making up stuff, that's an important call. I think it would work great either way, but it depends on how you want the story to be perceived ... as history or as a tale.

But either way, I think you could flesh out the story quite a bit. It's a dramatic moment. Give it all its worth.

 

I assumed people would be familiar with the lore surrounding the Daltons and interesting that my family were friends of the notorius gang. No matter.

 

g

 

dnr

 

WN?

 

Bump

 

Bump again---why not?

 

This is a true story related to me by my Gramma,who raised me. Those of you that know how I feel about the right-wing and the robber barons that seem to be always with us-can see how I come to feel the way I do. It's traditional in our family and I have passed it on to my children. I was raised near --"The Mussel Slough Tragedy" and my people definately were against the railroad pricks and the Pinkertons. PS=I'm not a writer--just a "writer". Yes -that was the Dalton gang.

 

Awesome family story! Thanks for sharing

 

For the newbies with the boobies!!

 

("...ah but don't stop there..." advised the goblin listening in, adding "...all you have to do is just keep on writing, the rest if you want the rest will come...")

 

Just some more---whatever.

 

Any more would probably have to do with my grandfather 6 generations back. Daniel Boone, that is. ( I suppose I'm related to that dick head Pat Boone. ) Abe Lincoln is some kind of a cousin also through Nancy Hanks.

 

My maternal grandmother insisted that lincoln was illegitimate son of john c calhoun.