Wrangling cattle is a hard way to make a living. Asa Walker was hot and dirty and tired and thirsty. He was shocked at how much prices had gone up since his last trip to Dodge.
He counted out the few silver coins he’d been paid and figured if he bought a bed, bath and a hot meal, he wouldn’t have enough left for a few drinks, a little respectable gambling, nor any to entertain a young lady.
He reckoned at these here prices, a man would pretty near have to rob a bank to stand half a chance of a decent night’s entertainment. That was when the idea struck him…
In 250 words or less, tell me a story incorporating the elements in the picture. The 250 word limit will be strictly enforced.
Please keep language and subject matter to a PG-13 level.
Use the comment section below to submit your entry. Entries will be accepted until 5:00 PM Pacific Time on Tuesday, June 12th, 2012.
On Wednesday morning, we will open voting to the public with an online poll for the best writing entry accompanying the photo. Voting will be open until 5:00 PM Thursday.
On Friday morning, the winner will be recognized as we post the winning entry along with the picture as a feature. Best of luck to you all in your writing!
Entries only in the comment section. Other comments will be deleted.
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Photograph by K.S. Brooks, used here with the photographer’s permission. Copying or reproduction of any kind without express consent is prohibited. All rights reserved.
For a more detailed explanation of the contest & its workings, please see the post called “Writing Exercises Return with a Twist” from 12/24/11.
By participating in this exercise the contestants agree to the rules of the contest and waive any and all further considerations or permissions otherwise required for any winning entries to be published by Indies Unlimited as an e-book, showcasing all the photos and with the winning expositions credited appropriately and accordingly.
The cowboy came down the stairs well satisfied. A bath, good dinner and a night’s sleep in a feather bed would do that for a man just off the trail.
Now it’s time to pay the bill, he thought, and head over to visit the ladies—have a drink and get screwed.
He hitched up his gun belt, tightened it and loosened his Colt as he stepped up to the desk.
“That’ll be one dollar, cowboy,” the desk clerk said.
“Here ya go,” the cowboy said as he handed the clerk his AMEX card. “Just put it on this here card.”
“Sorry son, we only accept cash or MasterCard.”
And with that the cowboy was screwed.
MORAL: All cattle trails may lead to Dodge City, but when you get there you’re screwed, one way or another.
Flame’s Hotel
Asa ached from being on the trail, but he ached for something he couldn’t afford.
She was easy to spot, six feet tall, long red hair and an alabaster body showing under strategically placed feathers.
The flickering candlelight gave him an idea that would provide a room, meal, and bath. Maybe he would get what he really needed.
Despite his dirty appearance, he was able to pull Flame away from her rounds. It was hard for him to stay focused. Her scent was intoxicating. A quick conversation and a thoughtful look up and down by Flame sent her to the bar. She rang a bell until the room went silent.
Once she had everyone’s attention, she announced, “Asa believes he can shoot all eight candles out on that wagon wheel over his head. He says you will never see his pistol move. If any gentlemen care to bet, I will match your bets."
Several minutes later the room was darker than before. Flame’s arm was around Asa as she pulled him up the stairs.
Asa’s two friends watched the show. One commented, “It really wasn’t fair. He was so good; he could shoot flies in mid-air with those flexible piano roll bands. He got that shortened ‘Asa’ nickname for A-S-A-S-A-S-A-S-A-S-A.”
The other cowpoke asked, “What does that stand for?”
“A sure a shot as seen around San Antonio’s stock yards.”
Asa smiled at Flame and enjoyed the two new bulges; one from his share of the money.
“How’s a feller supposed to live?” Asa Walker turned to fellow cowhand Jeb Tinker, and pointed at the posted prices. “Twenty five cents fer grub, another quarter fer a bath and a dollar fer a bed. Ending the cattle drive in Dodge is gonna break us.” He turned over the few silver coins the trail boss had paid him and frowned.
“I’ll pay just to cool off, get clean, and sleep in a bed,” Jed entered the hotel.
Won’t have enough left to get in a poker game, buy whisky and the company of a soiled dove, Asa thought. I’ll have to rob a bank to enjoy myself, but Marshal Ed Masterson will collar me right quick.
An idea formed in his head. He ran to the livery stable, leapt into the manure pile and rolled until coated with muck. Singing a lusty song, he sauntered down the street.
Masterson took Asa into custody and escorted him a watering trough behind the jail. He ordered Asa to strip; wash his clothing and self with homemade lye soap. Wrapped in an old blanket, Asa slept in his cell.
In late afternoon, Masterson fed him stew and coffee. Later Masterson tossed him his clothes and kicked him out.
After several hours of drinking and winning at poker, Asa escorted a buxom woman to his room. Next morning he counted the gold and silver coins in his pocket. He grinned; man’s gotta have a survival plan.
Like Flame's hotel. Sweet story.
Thanks Mike. Amazing the variations you get for these weekly prompts.
Have a nice weekend.
Asa kicked the dirt from his spurs and pushed the saloon doors open, scanning the room for his ticket to a hot meal, bath, and maybe some feminine company.
At the far end of the bar, on a rickety stool, was Jack Willworth, also known as, Ol’ Jack Redface. Asa took the stool next to him and ordered two shots of stout whiskey. From the line of empty glasses before Jack, it appeared Ol’ Redface was already eight shots in.
“Hey, Jack,” Asa greeted, removing his hat and placing it on the bar. “Join me for a drink?” Asa pushed one of the whiskeys across the bar to the drunken man.
“Thanksh, shir,” Ol’ Red-face slurred without even looking at Asa. Ol’ Red-face tipped his head back and slammed the empty glass against the bar to join the others. Asa slid the second drink towards his slovenly drunk companion.
Ol’ Redface emptied it in short order.
“I believe that’s enough, Jack,” Asa admonished. “Pay your tab and I’ll help you home.”
“Thash mighty kin’,” he replied as he pulled a handful of coins from his pocket. He let them clatter to the bar and started sifting through them with half-open eyes.
“Here, let me get that for you,” Asa offered, counting out enough coins to pay for Jack’s shots, the shots Asa had ordered, and for Asa’s needs for the night. After a short walk down the street, Asa would return and end his day in comfort.
Poker was Asa 's specialty, but from the moment he saw the finely dressed young man sitting alone at a rear table in the saloon he had a feeling of dread. The slender young man with the sparse mustache was playing solitaire. The way he handled the cards, Asa could tell he was a professional. A southern dandy by his looks. Asa reckoned the man would be a skillful, but an honest player. Asa sat down and introduced himself.
The man didn't look up from his cards but said, “Poker is a gentleman's game, sir! I won't tolerate a vulgar game like Faro.” As Asa started to answer the young man erupted in a coughing fit. “Are you alright?” Asa asked. “Let's play,” the man spoke sharply as he dealt the cards.
The two played on for hours, exchanging winning hands. Over time others sat in, went bust and went home. Asa was ahead and looking for a graceful exit. Finally, the well dressed poker player announced, “I'm leaving this fine town tomorrow, going out west.”
The two men agreed to simply split the pot, even though almost all the money in it had belonged to the gambler. The young man stood up, swaying a little from drink and said, “I've done rather well here, I trust you to keep the tradition while I'm gone.” Asa pocketed his share. The money didn't last long. But he never forgot the day he met Doc Holiday.