On the Western Front

By a lovely lady named Lana.

L.T. Garvin

Seamus Blackmore fastened his gun holster to his waist and took a deep breath. He was ready. In a few minutes, he would face that yella belly Erath. He reckoned he would win cause he was right. They wasn’t fightin’ over fences or cattle or women. No. The most important thing a man could hang on to was honor. Nobody could take that.

When Erath started blowin’ off his mouth bout how big his biceps were, how he ruled this town, Seamus had to take action. Nobody had bigger ceps than he did. He sculpted himself endlessly, lifting hay bales, throwin’ down fence. There was room in this town for only one cut cowboy, and it was him.

Outside the wind blew slightly, just enough to launch a small tumbleweed into roly poly flight. It was still a warm autumn day, but the skyline offered a hint of winter’s sour…

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