#John Wesley Hardin

[kchasm]

Ryu Number Chart Update: Call of Juarez: Gunslinger

Call of Juarez: Gunslinger is the fourth game in the Call of Juarez series, all but unrelated to the first two installments and thankfully unrelated to the third (let's us not talk about the third). This game features Silas Greaves, an aging gunman and bounty hunter in 1910 Abiline, Kansas who's got some recollections to regale a handful of saloongoers about, the majority of which have to do with wandering the Wild West and putting lead in people who perhaps deserve to have a bit more lead in them. Mind, Greaves isn't exactly what you'd call a Reliable Narrator... but he's not an Unreliable Narrator, either.

Gunslinger plays with the story-in-a-story narrative in a few pretty neat ways. As the player character stalks through a brightly lit swamp, one Greaves' listeners notes that the weather must have been nice, to which Greaves responds that no, it was foggy—and the environment immediately becomes so. Paths open up for the player character to follow as Greaves mentions them. More than once, Greaves gets distracted, causing the story (i.e. gameplay) he's narrating to change, or, on one occasion, spin into worrying surreality. The best example, I think, is when one of the characters sat at the saloon says he knows how the tale goes, providing narration and scenario for the player to shoot through FPSly, only for Greaves to tell him that that's not how it went at all; this is how it went—and then you play through that.

(So yeah, this technically means that all of the stages are Greaves' recollections and tales, which means they're technically not happening during the game's narrative which is wholly set at the saloon—if they ever happened at all, is another issue���but seeing as no significant amount of gameplay occurs outside of his narrative, and at least some of the stuff Really Did Happen—including various non-Greaves bits throughout the game—I'm going to call on the Code Name: S.T.E.A.M. precedent here and count it while circumnavigating the best I can in the future around using this game for characters that only appeared in Greaves' recollections. If you have any objections, these objections are completely fair and valid and you can stop reading this post now.)

(Hey, you're still here! Aces.)

One element that differentiates Gunslinger from previous entries in the series is the number of historical Wild West figures who show up in Greaves' tales. As the game notes, it wasn't unusual for dime novels to turn real-life gunhandlers into celebrities and folkheroes, if it wasn't those slingers doing the selling themselves—and Greaves, for all the low regard he's got for those novels, is selling a heck of a story. The very first stage, in fact, involves his brief and ill-fated team-up with Billy the Kid.

And yes, all the Big Names get intro screens like this. It's awesome.

Caveat: Henry Plummer's appearance in Greaves' story is especially suspect, on account of that it places him in after 1882, about a score of years after the real-life Plummer was given an awfully tawdry corded necklace and instructed to hang around. Too anachronistic to count, then?

Maybe. I dunno if it changes anything, but (and this is completely baseless speculation, so don't you dare copy-paste me like I'm some voice of expertise) to me, it almost feels like a mistake from outside the game. A point for this hypothesis: There's a character from the saloon who's prone to interjection whenever he thinks Greaves' story has gotten a little too far off reality, and while he does pipe up during the Plummer matter, all he says is that Greaves got the location wrong, which you'd think would barely qualify as peccadillo next to the whole time thing.

But no, everyone's perfectly fine with the time thing, which suggests that it isn't an error—not within the game, at least. Ever read Umney's Last Case? It's a short story. Stephen King.

... But hey, maybe Greaves really is just making the entire Plummer business up, and that specifically is the reason it's chronologically out of whack. It's more than implied at the end of the game that Greaves has—at least at one point during the whole game—stretched some truth, somewhere, but the where and when and how much and how important go cheerily unanswered.

Also, Plummer has an appearance on-screen during a not-directly-related-to-Greaves bit where they explain who he is For The Benefit Of The Player, which means it doesn't matter whether Greaves is making anything up or not, which means this whole multiparagraph massacre was for the benefit of nothing.

I waste your time! I waste all of your time!

Anyway, Ryu Numbers:

Wait, sorry, Dwight D. Eisenhower? Like the American president Dwight D. Eisenhower? Mr. I-Like-Ike?

Yeah, there's a reason the framing device bits happen in Abilene, Kansas, of all places. Eisenhower—born 1890—grew up there, before going to West Point in 1911. Before the Wild West era finally sunset, Wild Bill Hickok himself, in the early 1870's, served as marshal of the city. Tradition states that the Abilene of that time was a town of wickedness and criminality, which Hickok did his utmost to restore to lawfulness almost singlehandedly in the face of repeated attempts at assassination. And yes, there was a shootout in the Old West style, with the grievances petty but the consequences violent and lethal.

The truth, of course, is a lot more complicated (and a lot more interesting—see Robert Dykstra's 1961 paper in American Studies, "Wild Bill Hickok in Abilene"), but it wouldn't be wrong to say that Eisenhower grew up with the specter of the Old West hanging around.

... Which feels wrong, doesn't it? Talking about the Wild West and Eisenhower in anything like the same era. But the American Civil War only ended in 1865 (which means we haven't even gotten a bicentennialsworth of not-enslaving-not-imprisoned-people, incidentally), which is where a whole lot of the Wild West's big names owe their production (gotta take out that trauma somewhere). And then Manifest Destiny and genocide (all the genocide) and the Homestead Acts, and paved roads and the automobile (and in the opening cutscene, Silas Greaves' horse panics when the car nearly runs them over), and then it's World War I and an uncountable number of fresh-faced American boys are going to Europe to die face-down in the mud.

That's 1917. That's only just over fifty years.

Horse ebooks was right. Everything happens so much.

(For future reference, the characters who you can almost definitely count as showing up even if Greaves is pulling the maximum amount of bunk are Billy the Kid, Curly Bill Brocius, Johnny Ringo, Old Man Clanton, Henry Plummer—anachronism or otherwise—John Wesley Hardin, Bob Dalton, Grat Dalton, Emmett Dalton, Bill Powers—or however you'd prefer to spell him—Dick Broadwell—Bob, Grat, and those last two appear in Ben's recollection of the Dalton Gang, their bodies laid out in reference to an actual photograph that was taken—Jim Reed—that portion of Greaves' story is confirmed true—Jesse James, Frank James, Butch Cassidy, the Sundance Kid, and of course, Dwight D. Eisenhower.)

[pilgrim1975]

John Wesley Hardin – Gunslinger

Texas. The Lone Star State. A state famous and notorious in equal measure for its outlaws. Bonnie and Clyde, Ray and Floyd Hamilton, ‘Tex’ Lucas and the notorious “Cowboy” gang that moved into Arizona and ruled Tombstone until the famed gunfight at the OK Corral all spring to mind. But before all of them there came an outlaw as feared, yet also as celebrated, as Texas has ever known and his name…

[historydailyfrancischappellblack]

Wild West Wednesdays Part 1

Today we begin a new series, appearing every Wednesday, profiling one notorious outlaw who was roaming the American Wild West in the late-1800s. I hope that you will enjoy the series as much as I did writing it. Enjoy!. Francis John Wesley Hardin John Wesley Hardin was an Old West outlaw and gunfighter. Hardin was often in trouble with the law, even from an early age. He killed his first man…

[safarigirlsp]

The Museum Beast

Historian Nicholas Mills x OC

Word Count: 13.8k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Horror. Lots of Violence. Gore. Chasing. Monster Action. This is heavily inspired by one of my favorite novels, Relic. If you like any of this, I highly encourage you to read it!

I’m willing to continue this and write more if people like it!

Note: Going forward, I'm going to write characters from now on instead of Readers just because it's really annoying trying to switch back and forth for the non-fic writing I do. However, the female characters will be totally physically vague aside from having a name, so they can still easily be read as an insert by anyone who chooses to insert themselves.

Based on two requests I combined then butchered from @iamburdened and @queeniebee

AO3 Link

Two of the world’s tallest free-standing dinosaurs were frozen mid-battle in the Theodore Roosevelt Rotunda on the second floor of the New York Museum of Natural History. In dramatic repose, a Barosaurus reared to protect its young from an attacking Allosaurus. The skeletal titans made the browsing museum patrons look like ants milling at their feet. Alice was never unable to walk past the dinosaurs without craning her neck upward to admire their towering presence. The great saurians were much more interesting to focus on than the throng of chattering primates that inhabited the museum during business hours. Walking through the past with her heels echoing on tile hallways that stretched the length of city blocks, she allowed herself to be distracted by the jungle of extinct species giving life to their dioramas. From the tiny, feathered dinosaur skeleton displayed in a dramatically lit shadow box to the gigantic open jaws of a megalodon framing the entrance to an adjoining hallway, there was always something interesting that caught her eye.

If she walked briskly it was a decent cardio session to make her way to the North American section of the museum. A special exhibit had just opened, an exhibition on the American Old West. It had all the good stuff. Cowboys, gunslingers, train robbers, mountain men, and miners. The exhibit was livelier curated than most, or maybe the subject simply lent itself to action and movement. Standing guard on either side of the entrance were the wax likenesses of Buffalo Bill, wearing his original buckskin outfit, bedazzled with fringe and conchos, and Sitting Bull, dressed in a magnificent headdress boasting a rainbow of colors in its plumage. In one corner was a round table of wax men dressed in full regalia, engaged in a heated poker game. A man with luxurious curly hair sat with his back facing the audience, displaying his hand of aces and eights, the famous Dead Man’s Hand, held by ‘Wild’ Bill Hickock when he was gunned down. The mural painted in the corner Hickock faced even showed the characteristic swinging doors of a saloon, being pushed open by a man with a gun in his hand and murder in his eyes. In another corner ‘Hanging’ Judge Parker sat at his desk, writing in his ledger, backlit by a mural of a man swinging from the gallows outside his office window.

Alice was delighted to see some of the famous men of the old west depicted in less obvious settings than gunfights. These exploits were detailed in paintings that supplemented the exhibits and dozens of informative plaques, but many characters were shown in niche exposes that spoke to the true enthusiasts among the visitors.

The most famous lawman of all, Wyatt Earp, was depicted indulging in his guilty pleasure of gambling with his notoriously beautiful actress wife playing right alongside him as she smoked a cigar. Instead of being shown in his best-known role as Wyatt Earp’s right hand in the infamous Tombstone events, Doc Holliday was portrayed as a suave gentleman, dressed in a fancy brocade vest and cravat, focused on the smiling attentions of his consort, Big-Nosed Kate. The deadliest outlaw of all and likely psychopath John Wesley Hardin was shown lounging on a dirty bunk inside a jail cell. He was intently focused on a large law book. After serving his time, he turned from gunfighting to the practice of law. The plaque detailing his exploits explained tongue-in-cheek that he had traded the illegal form of lawlessness for the legal alternative.

Ample attention was also given to women of note. From saloon owners to cut-throat madams, women’s stories were interspersed with the male narrative. There was of course a display devoted to Calamity Jane, dressed as a man and just as dangerous. Prominently featured was the lesser known but equally successful outlaw Belle Starr, shown wearing a pretty red dress while brandishing a six-gun astride her huge, coal-black horse, Venus. The most famous woman of all, and arguably one of the most iconic figures of the Old West, Annie Oakley, was given a full diorama of her own. A wax figure depicted the pint-sized sharpshooter holding a rifle as she aimed for the cigarette held between her husband’s lips.

An armory worth of firearms from the period were on display. From iconic Colt .45 revolvers and Winchester 30-30 lever action rifles to unique pieces like tiny six-barreled pepper-box derringers and huge Sharps rifles, there were enough firearms to lay siege to a small country. It was befitting for the period, when a man’s gun and his horse were the best friends he could ever have. Without either, a man’s lifespan would likely be reduced to weeks or even days.

The exhibition hall was spacious, even with a veritable herd of visitors milling through it like buffalo on the plains. School children raced through the halls and between dioramas as unchecked as packs of coyotes, while their teachers and handlers tried in vain to wrangle them under control. It was afternoon and most groups were on their final turn around the exhibits before leaving. A few pairs of surly teenagers lingered on the sidelines, looking like they were trying to find a place to whip out a cigarette to enhance their cool, and probably having escaped their own class trip from some other section of the vast museum. Despite the chaos the minors instigated, snippets of intelligent conversation also fluttered around the room.

In an attempt to avoid the class field trips, Alice moved to an adjacent room inside the sprawling exhibit. This spacious room was devoted to art of and from the period, Native American weavings and pottery, animated bronze sculptures, and vibrant oil paintings. The more sedate nature of the art exhibits appealed to a more sedate crowd, unable to hold the interest of children and teenagers. The only other people in the art room were an elderly couple, a group of three college-age people who looked like modern beatniks, and one impressively built man standing off to one side, studying the plaque of a detailed mural-size painting.

Alice couldn’t help but appraise the man discreetly as he stood quartering away from her. He was tall and broad, his robust physique apparent through his flannel shirt and jeans. Even from her angle, she could tell his features were strong and masculine. Dark hair curled around his collar and his strong stubble-covered jaw flexed as he read, his bright eyes darting quickly over the text. She wondered briefly about approaching him – men that attractive were rare to find out in the wild – but it struck her as ridiculous to approach the man like she was in a bar and ask him if he came here often. Rolling her eyes inwardly at herself, she turned her attention toward the opposite wall and a painting of a painfully skinny man riding an equally emaciated white horse on a moonlight night.

It was rewarding when out of the corner of her eye she saw the man turn and pause just to look at her. The man glanced toward the doorway leading back into the main exhibit then back at her, seeming to decide whether or not he too wanted to risk making an ass of himself with a clumsy come-on in an art exhibit. Alice fought to hide her smile when he made his decision in her favor.

The handsome man sidled up to her, his approach practiced and laissez-faire. His shoulders were squared and his stride confident, but he angled across the exhibit hall from the side, his eyes fixed on the oil paintings instead of his prize, like a lion casually strolling by a gazelle to gauge distance before an attack. There was an impulse to turn to him with an accusatorily arched eyebrow to show she was onto him. But he was attractive enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. Being pursued added a certain spice to the air, after all. With his large hands in his pockets and his posture confident but relaxed, he dripped with top notes of James Dean and undertones of Clint Eastwood.

“Frederick Remington,” the man read the artist’s name when he stopped beside her. He was a full head taller and his voice was deep and a little gravely, barely tinged with a Western drawl. “I think my dad has one of his 30.06 rifles.”

Alice hoped he was teasing, that there were a few active brain cells sparking inside that pretty head. The hint of a smirk twisting the man’s lips confirmed it. Keeping her face deadpan, she played along. “Yeah? These artists must have been starving during their lifetimes, being forced to branch out like that. I hear the guy behind Winchester Arms was really into weird avant garde architecture, too.”

The man grinned and turned to face her, fixing her with a pair of bright eyes the color of whiskey. “I think that was his wife. Leave it to a woman to spend a man’s hard-earned gun money on a house in the California hills, complete with staircases leading to ceilings and dead ends. Think she had a Remington on the walls?”

“I don’t know if Sarah Winchester was a fan of Frederick Remington, but I bet there were a few works by Eliphalet Remington somewhere inside,” Alice teased.

“I’m impressed,” the man laughed. “I couldn’t have pulled that name out of thin air.”

“I bet now you’re wondering if I’m a gun nut or just a history buff. A woman should keep an air of mystery about her.” She smiled and looked at him squarely. She decided he looked at home in the Old West exhibit, exuding a ruggedly masculine quality that was all too rare in modern society. He had a face that belonged on the streets of Dodge City, those crisp hooded eyes staring down the barrel of a Colt .45. She realized she had been staring into those eyes for a rudely long moment, and continued talking to smooth over that faux pas, “I never cared much for Remington’s paintings. They’re drab and all the subjects are in painfully sorry condition – horses and men alike.” She pointed to an incredible scene of two cowboys roping a grizzly bear, their movements frozen on canvas mid-stride, mid-lasso, and mid-snarl, painted with confident strokes in a vibrant palette. “Charlie Russell is my favorite. You can’t beat the color and the action in his paintings.”

“I wonder if that’s worse than having a tiger by the tail,” he pondered, pointing at the lassoed grizzly, snarling and swiping at the horse and rider. “What would your boyfriend say?”

“That position is currently vacant. What a brash way to inquire.” She smiled and nodded back at the snarling grizzly. “I’m sure three out of four ex-boyfriends would say they’d take their chances with the bear.”

“It’d take more than a bear or a tiger to scare me away from such a pretty face,” he teased, using those impressive eyes as tactically as a gun. “I never did have much instinct for self-preservation. Plenty of brash though, and other things synonymous.”

She laughed genuinely. “You’ve covered art, guns, tigers, and balls in three minutes flat. That’s quite an icebreaker without even introducing yourself. What else should I know?”

“Nicholas Mills.” He grinned handsomely and extended his hand, it was callused and powerful and large, easily swallowing hers in his warm grip. “I’m here consulting on this exhibition, on loan from the Old West Museum in Cheyanne.”

“Alice,” she returned, giving his hand a firm shake. “You’re a historian?” Her tone was skeptical as she pointedly eyed his flannel shirt and jeans. “Is tweed out of vogue for you types these days?”

“In the west it’s all denim and cotton.” He popped the collar of his shirt. “Linen if you want to be pretentious. Dust sticks to tweed like hell, not to mention burs.”

“What about your ten-gallon hat and dinnerplate-sized belt buckle?” The question gave her a convenient excuse to gauge the way he filled out his jeans. He wasn’t a man who skipped leg day.

“Those are only fashion accessories in Texas. Maybe Santa Fe. Where I’m from, if you’re wearing a cowboy hat, it better have a sweat ring around the headband, and if you’re wearing a belt buckle, it better be tarnished. Those are work accessories for working ranch hands, not fashion statements.” He let his eyes travel the curves of her figure under the guise of admiring her outfit of jeans and a blazer. “I suppose those duds work equally well for business or pleasure in most fields.” He smirked, but moved on before she could wonder at the double entendre. “Do I get a last name or just Alice?”

Smiling coyly, Alice replied, “I’ll give you a hint and see how well you know your stuff. It’s the name of one of my favorite songs and of a color that looks terrible on me, and I share it with a gunfighter who I’m sad to see isn’t featured in your exhibit. He had one of the best names in the business. That’s three hints, actually. So, are you posing as a historian to hit on unsuspecting women, or the real deal?”

“I’m not up on music and I can’t imagine there’s a color that could make you look terrible,” Nick frowned and pursed his lips. “I know of a couple of noteworthy Browns and even a Dunn, but their names don’t have any special ring to them. If I was a betting man, I’d put my dollar on ‘Texas’ Jack Vermillion. Alice Vermillion?”

“If you were betting, you’d have hit the jackpot,” Alice said with a genuine smile. “A man who knows Texas Jack and Charlie Russell. I’m not yet impressed, but I am intrigued.”

“If this goes the direction I’m hoping, I may yet hit that jackpot and you’ll be very impressed.” He didn’t give her the chance to address that sentiment before changing the subject. He cocked his head toward another painting depicting a man and woman seated side by side beneath an upside down canoe propped above them, taking shelter from a torrent of rain in a thick forest. Despite the weather, the couple was engaged in smiling conversation. “I’m a Goodwin man, myself. But I’m biased. Every time I look at his paintings of cowboys packing up in Alaska or canoeing in the Great North, adventurous couples fishing and hunting together, I get nostalgia for a place I’ve never been.” He smiled to himself. “Someday.”

“Isn’t New York about as far away as a man can get from canoeing up in the Great North and fighting grizzlies over your catch of the day?” she teased. “Not much chance of facing down a maneater on the mean streets of NYC. Although, I hear these days you’re more likely to get bitten by a New Yorker than a shark.”

“You must not know about the Museum Beast.” He flashed a grin that was lopsided and full of mischief.

Alice cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s a little early in the day for ghost stories. Shouldn’t you invite me someplace nicer before you start trying to rattle the delicate woman into wanting to cling to your big, strong arm?”

“I’m appalled you think I’m that easy, miss.” He flexed one of those big, strong arms in question in the sluttiest possible way. “It’s no campfire ghost story. The folks who work here believe it. They say there’s a huge beast living in the basement, roaming the halls at night.” Holding up his hands, he hummed the Twilight Zone theme. “They say it preys on researchers who embezzle grant money and curators who hit on their secretaries.”

Alice laughed, maybe snorted a little, decidedly unladylike. “So, you’re saying I’m safe then?”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he teased with faux gravity. “Just stick close to me.”

“That sounds like a pretty firm offer to help with some research to me.” She put her hands on her hips in a playful challenge.

“Would it be smart of you to trust the research skills of a man who’s not wearing a tweed jacket?” He grinned. “What kind of research? Are you a student?”

“God no!” she laughed. “I haven’t been a student in over a decade. I’m something much worse.”

Nick raised his eyebrows, inquiring.

“I’m a defense lawyer, trying desperately to find an angle to show my very guilty client has a mitigating defense.” She mirrored his expression, raising her eyebrows. “You want the facts? They’re not for the squeamish. You don’t have a full stomach, do you?”

“A pretty face with a shady job and an iron stomach to boot?” he laughed again. “You have my attention.”

“Have you ever gotten carried away and gone down some weird rabbit holes?” she asked with a self-deprecating grin.

‘Sure.” He nodded. “I’m not surprised you’re one to go chasing rabbits, Alice.”

“My client is a murder, a serial killer. A cannibal, to be precise.” She watched him for any of the silent tells she was used to seeing when a listener wanted her to stop, or to chew their arm off and escape her work stories. Seeing none, she continued. “He grew up in Centralia, Pennsylvania before the town was evacuated, then worked in mines all of his adult life. He tells me this affected him. Sadly, conventional psych evals don’t back up his claim. So, before I lay out the big bucks on an expert to say whatever I want, I wanted to do some research on the effects of heavy metal poisoning on miners and a correlation with cannibalism. I figured looking at the Old West miners before there were regulations might be a good place to start.”

“Cannibalism, huh? Romantic topic. Did you see the Donner Party exhibit?” He smirked and jerked his thumb in the direction of a diorama of several wax figures huddled around a dying campfire, clutching furs around them to fight the bitter blizzarding cold while suggestively roasting skewers of meat.

“It’s very nice.” She looked back at the macabre display. “But not what I’m looking for. They had a different defense to cannibalism. Duress, definitely. If I were representing one of them, I’d also argue self-defense, in an eat or be eaten sense. I’d win.”

Nick grinned then pursed his lips, nodding as he considered her problem. “You won’t find anything useful up here but if you want to go deeper down this rabbit hole, you’d want to have a look in the museum’s archives. This museum has the largest collection of natural history artifacts in the world. That’s one reason I’m here, frankly, is a chance to explore their collection of Old West relics. It’s better than being a kid in a candy store. It’s almost as good as an occultist getting a backstage pass to the Vatican Archives.” He fixed his intense eyes on hers. “I bet we could find some good stuff in there.”

“Are you offering to sneak me into the museum’s archives with you?” She added a seductive edge to her voice and added, “You’re going to lift up the museum’s skirt for me and show me her goods?”

“I’ll have you know skirt-lifting is a great talent of mine.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Yeah, I’m offering, so long as you let me take you out afterwards. We can discuss our findings over dinner.”

“You won’t get in trouble?” she asked sincerely.

“They can’t fire me.” He shrugged. “The worst they could do is chew me out and deport me back to Cheyanne. What do you say? Dinner in exchange for a private curated tour and me risking getting a big ole ass-chewing?”

“Deal.” Alice smiled, offering her hand again and they shook on it.

*******************************************************************************************

It was creeping toward five when Nick led Alice out of an employee service elevator on one of the lower levels of the museum. They had met an exodus of employees heading the opposite direction on their way home for the day.

“Is it too late for this adventure?” Alice asked as they walked down a hallway so long she could barely see the end of it. The lights were dim and there were no windows on this lower level. They passed dozens of closed doors and multiple other hallways branching off. She thought the minotaur could get lost in this place.

“I have my all hours, all access pass.” He tapped his jeans pocket where a laminated card was stowed. It served as both an ID card and a key to most of the locked doors in the museum and the employee-only areas.

“How do you not get lost in here?” Alice asked, looking around the endless halls. Especially with no natural light or signage, it seemed impossible.

“Nah, I get lost all the time. I consider it part of the adventure,” he laughed, then saw her askance look and added sheepishly, “Sorry, I forgot I was supposed to be your intrepid guide. I won’t let on if I get lost. Just consider it exploring.”

“That’s comforting,” she laughed too. Secretly, she thought it might not be the most terrible thing to be lost for a few hours or even the night in a place with so much to explore with a handsome man.

Alice was convinced they had covered the distance of several city blocks before they arrived at a pair of heavy oak doors with a plain brass plate announcing they had reached the B Archives.

“Does that mean there’s an entire alphabet of archive rooms and collections?” she asked as Nick held the door open for her.

“Probably.” He shrugged. “I’ve only poked around in Archives A, B, and C. Those collections date from the recent past until the eighteenth century or so.”

Inside the B Archives, Alice was reminded of an enormous library that had seen better days. Or the basement of an ultra-rich hoarder. Rows of metal shelves streaked away as far as she could see in the dim lighting, seven-feet high and with another foot or two of boxes piled on top. Between rows there was enough space for two people to walk abreast if they wanted to get a little cozy with one another. At various intervals in the rows there were alcoves fitted with small tables where one could examine their find without taking it up to the front. The light added to the aged feel, the bulbs candlelight-yellow, a few of which were weak and flickering. The front of the room had a kind of sitting area with chairs and a spattering of small tables. There was a small office inside too, a door with a smoked glass window open ajar.

A hunched old man with white hair and coke bottle glasses poked his head out from the office door, squinting at Nick for several seconds before addressing him. “You’ve been bothering me a lot lately.”

“This time I brought a pretty girl who wants to bother you,” Nick said, placing his hand on the small of Alice’s back as he led her toward the old man. “She’s curious what you have on mines in the old west. Particularly mines with gruesome histories. Murders, deaths, breakouts of illness or insanity. All that good stuff. Cannibalism in particular, if you have any of that on the menu.”

“Cannibalism? On a perfectly decent Friday afternoon?” The old man scoffed, but proceeded to ponder the matter, his bushy white eyebrows drawing together in thought. After a moment, he held up a triumphant finger. “You know, there is a rather curious box of effects that might interest you. It’s some remnants of an old Colorado sheriff’s things. He led quite an illustrious life, it seems. His heirs donated most of his effects to the museum. I took a quick peek through it years ago when it came in, but I haven’t thought of it since.” He pointed a bony finger down the row of aisles. “Aisle S, box 5425, if memory serves, and it always does.”

“How in the hell do you do that?” Nick asked, shaking his head.

“Photographic memory.” The man tapped his temple. “Which also means I’ll remember you precisely if you mess up my boxes.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Nick assured him then led the way toward aisle S.

It took them some time to locate box 5425, partially because many of the labels were faded beyond readability. When they found it, Nick had to stand on his tiptoes and stretch his arms to their full reach to nudge it off its perch on top of another box on the top shelf. He nearly dropped the box when it came free, catching it with one hand and fumbling for balance for a harrowing second. Once he held it securely in his arms, he smiled cockily at Alice and headed toward the nearest alcove in their row.

The alcove was centered in the row and seated directly under a flickering yellow light. Nick set the box down on the small table, barely large enough for a coffee date. The lights were sparsely spaced, leaving shadowy stretches between pools of yellow light. There were still several towering rows of shelving between them and the entrance, but sound carried well in the sepulcher-like room. He was spreading the contents of the box out on the table when he heard then entrance door creak open and a voice bounced down the aisle toward them.

“I’m clocking out for the day.” The old man called. “Put that box back where you found it and don’t tell anyone I left you unattended in here, and we’ll still be friends tomorrow.”

“You got it,” Nick replied, projecting his deep voice so it boomed through the archives. Then he turned to Alice with a wolfish expression, “I hope you didn’t want a chaperone.”

“All a chaperone does is keep an honest man honest,” she replied, appreciating just how close they stood at the small table. “I think you’re a man who will break as many rules as I let you, chaperone or not.”

“Maybe so.” He grinned sideways and chewed his lip as he opened the box.

It may have been a mistake, she realized, allowing herself to be shut away privately and in such close confines with this man. Her profession was dominated by men, she was used to working closely with men and attractiveness or lack thereof never entered into it. Rarely, at least. It was a foreign feeling to be dominated by hormones the way she was now. Her senses felt assaulted, a gate failing before a battering ram. The way he looked and the rich gravel in his voice were bad enough, but now in the close space, Alice couldn’t ignore the masculine scent that subtly infiltrated her nose. She didn’t know if the scent of pine and leather mingled with musk was cologne or if it belonged to him. The small table necessitated him being close to her, their bodies almost touching. He didn’t crowd her, but still the size of him was tantalizingly imposing with the minimal space between them. She felt the heat from his body on her skin when he leaned over to study the papers spread across the table next to her. It made her think of being overpowered, manhandled, taken, even – the things that modern empowered women were supposed to have evolved beyond but that the base part of them craved when they sensed a man masculine enough to give it.

Nick pulled a letter from the box, the paper brittle and yellowed with age. Protocol dictated he should be wearing gloves to handle it, but he didn’t want to leave Alice alone long enough to fetch a pair. Despite his bravado, he had always found these dark and mostly abandoned places inside the museum creepy. He never let it get to him or get in the way of anything he needed to do, of course. But it was still an unsettling sort of environment, surrounded by the dead and their effects, in a place where voices echoed and shadows creeped. It was easy to imagine wakeful spirits watching him from the corner of his eye, just at the edges of the feeble light.

Not unlike being inside a deep, dark mine, he thought as he looked at the letter. He read aloud to Alice, thinking he might have actually struck gold, at least in terms of finding something to keep their afternoon interesting.

October 13, 1882

Darlin Belle,

I’m sure missin you tonight. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this but I hope it will find its way to you. I’m gonna write you like you was here with me and I was just talkin to you over dinner. It makes me miss you less. Every time I think about bein home, all that is to me is bein with you. The men in the posse kid me for bein whipped by you but I can’t find a damn to give over it. Miserable lonely bastards, the lot of em. But I guess they didn’t leave no one behind to miss em when they died. I hope you’ll miss me and remember the things that were good about me. There aren’t many, so it shouldn’t be hard.

“That sounds romantic,” Alice said with a wistful lilt. “I’m not sure it’s useful for my purposes, but I like it.”

Nick grinned and nodded. He read ahead to himself, but decided not to share it with the woman who was now looking at him with a pretty, hopeful smile. Best not to spoil the mood. He read the next few paragraphs to himself, feeling a prickly chill drag along the length of his spine like ghostly fingernails.

It’s been snowin up here in these mountains for days and it’s up over my knees now. Sure makes me miss the warmth of your touch. There’s nothin finer than holdin you in my arms, smellin your hair like flowers and cinnamon, feelin you soft n warm. I think you might be the only thing that can thaw me out ever again. Here I gone and got myself all hot and bothered just thinkin about you. But the snow’s been a blessin for me. It made the blood trail of the one I wounded easy to follow. I found him holed up under a ledge and finished him off with my knife so as not to fire off a shot. Sound carries in these mountains. The snow got thicker after dark. Thick enough to hide my tracks from the rest who are huntin me.

They haven’t found my hideout yet, but they will. I have to beat em to the punch.

I ain’t got much time cause they know the mountains better than me. It makes hidin hard and ambushin harder.

Sorry my writins goin from bad to worse fast. My fingers are numb as hell.

Curious, Alice leaned in to look at the letter and read it along with him. Spender folded it back together with a snap, too rough for the old paper and cleared his throat. He hastily put it back in the box – in the bottom of the box, under some other more innocuous looking items. “I don’t think the rest is worth reading today.”

Instead, he reached for a pocket watch with a gold hunting case, beautifully engraved with an elk hunting scene. Holding it delicately in his hands, he popped open the cover and read the engraving aloud, “To my handsome sheriff. You carry my love for you wherever you go. Belle.”

“That’s beautiful.” Turning toward him, Alice looked into his eyes as she spoke. Though his composure remained steady on the surface, she saw the way his chest expanded, his jaw clenched, his throat bobbed. It gave her a feeling of power knowing Nick was just as affected by their proximity as she was, maybe even more. She told herself she wouldn’t completely give into hormones. But she could give a little. How long had it been since she’d made out with a man like a horny teenager during a study session? Probably not since she had been a horny teenager. She could live a little now. Resting her ass against the tale, she leaned back against it and looked up at him, intentionally giving him the image of her laying sprawled beneath him. It would be a perfectly innocuous posture if the air wasn’t so charged between them, the attraction so tangible. The way he swallowed thickly told her that it wasn’t innocuous to him either.

The next move was his, Nick realized. Smirking to mask the way his pulse thundered, he stepped closer to her, using the excuse of setting the watch down on the table near her hip resting against the table’s edge. He left his hand there on the table, and when Alice kept looking up at him rather than anywhere else, Nick knew he had her tacit approval to act bolder. With his next step, he positioned himself in front of her. His right hand still rested near the pocket watch that held less interest to Alice than the man. He flattened his right hand on the table beside her then planted his left hand on her opposite side. There was still space between their bodies, if only inches, but he now caged her against the table and loomed over her.

“Find anything that interests you down here yet, darlin?’” he asked, letting the huskiness in his voice reflect his mounting arousal.

Alice heard something that sounded like a faint scratch from somewhere inside the archives. It was hardly enough to pull her attention away from the stupidly attractive man who was doing his best to make her forget all the dating rules and run every base right here in this dusty archive.

“I don’t have enough information to know if I’m interested in anything yet,” she teased. Angling her chin up, she presented her jaw and neck in a favorable angle for kissing.

“What do I need to clear up for you?” he played along as he lowered his head, trailing his nose over her cheek and his lips over her jaw, kissing lightly and teasing her with the scratch of his beard.

A box shifted on a shelf deeper in the archive, as though something had bumped it or rubbed against it. Alice heard that too, but she didn’t care. Not when Nick’s lips had moved to her neck and were giving her goosebumps, making her breath come short and her spine tingle. Encouraged by the way her body arched toward his and the way her hands had flown to his shoulders, Nick hooked his hands behind her thighs and hoisted her up onto the table. Pushing her legs apart, he stepped between them, bringing their bodies together then letting his hands caress her thighs and back as he continued kissing her neck. Every part of his body was hard beneath her roving hands, each plane and ridge of muscle a new excitement to discover. She could feel how hard he was inside his jeans too, but she would save exploring all of him for another time. She had talked herself into a nice makeout session with a handsome stranger, but she hadn’t yet abandoned all of her morals.

Bringing his hand to the back of her neck, he cradled her head while he exerted that subtle masculine control that could make a woman want to submit to him. Nick teased the side of her neck with his teeth, also teasing her restraint. He grinned against her skin when he pulled a soft moan from her throat, beginning to lose himself in the feel of her body against his, her soft skin under his callused hands.

When she moaned, Alice heard a strange response from somewhere in the dimly lit room. Something like a wet huffed breath, or a sloppy inhale. It sounded like a large dog snuffling. It was unmistakably not something she could attribute to the old room or hear ears playing tricks on her.

“Nick,” she whispered, not from arousal but trepidation. “Did you hear that?”

“’Course, darlin,’” he muttered dismissively as he nosed and kissed along her collarbone, his fingers digging into her thigh.

“What is it?” She was starting to pull back, making him tighten his hold on her.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing,” he spoke against her skin, trying to placate her. He hadn’t heard anything, but if there was something, it was probably a fucking rat the size of a wiener dog. They had those fuckin’ things in New York. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her that. Giant rats wouldn’t do a damn thing to keep her revved up for him. Forcing the thought from his own mind, he resumed kissing her, rubbing his words in with his lips. “It’s an old place. There’s bound to be some weird noises.”

“Listen!” she whisper-yelled, grabbing a fistful of his thick hair and yanking far too harshly to be mistaken for anything sexy.

He winced and frowned at her through one eye, the other was squeezed shut from the pain in his scalp. “You could just tell me to fuckin’ stop, you know?”

“Listen,” she said again, this time her whisper was barely audible. She heard another scrape and maybe another sniffing breath. But everything was quieter now, more subtle. As if whatever was making those faint noises was trying to be stealthier.

“That could be anything,” Nick said at full volume with a laugh on his voice. His voice seemed to boom throughout the archives, sparking off Alice’s inflamed nerve endings.

She clapped a hand over his mouth, hard enough to make him flinch. Her body was bolt upright, incidentally pressing her body flush to his, her every muscle taught. She knew her system had shot into a fight or flight response, but she didn’t know why. Her consciousness hadn’t registered anything that warranted such a reaction, a few odd sounds in an old museum was hardly noteworthy. But something about what she heard struck a chord in her core, deep in her subconscious where instinct reigned. Every sense she had sparked like live electric wires, screaming at her to run away as fast as she could, but she didn’t know what she was running from or even which direction to bolt. Her eyes were wide and terrified when they met Nick’s and she whispered, “Something’s in here with us. Listen. We have to get out.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement and he kissed her palm still held over his mouth. Taking her wrist, he plucked her hand away and kissed her there on her pulse point. He did it teasingly, but he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, “I spooked you good with that story about the Museum Beast.” He smirked and teased further, “I thought you were a big girl who could handle some campfire tales.”

“Can you not hear anything over the sound of your hard on?” she hissed, placing a restraining hand on his chest. “Listen, and try to think with the right head for a minute.”

Nick laughed, he always had a weakness for the feisty ones. He was about to tell her as much and steal another kiss when he heard it. A kind of snuffling, like someone with a runny nose, but also different and unmistakable. Growing up in Wyoming, he had spent plenty of time outdoors around wildlife, hunting, fishing, and hiking. He’d heard that sound once before when he’d come face to face with a grizzly around a bend in a trail. Given their poor eyesight, grizzlies tended to grunt and sniff their way along, their way of assessing their environment. He didn’t believe what his mind registered. There couldn’t be a fucking bear in a New York museum. But he also couldn’t rationally attribute the sound to some wheezy curator or a congested janitor, especially not when paired with a stealthy padded footfall.

“We need to run.” Alice fisted his lapel. Her voice had dropped below a whisper to an urgent breath.

“No, darlin,’ don’t run.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her off the table, returning her feet to the floor. Taking her arm, he pulled her behind him, placing himself closest toward the strange noises and whatever creature made them. He began to back slowly away down the aisle, pushing her behind him, trying to keep his steps silent. His mind raced frantically, but he forced his body to remain in control, repeating, “Don’t run.”

“Can we fight it?” she asked, touching his back from behind, trying to calm herself by keeping contact with him

“We may have to,” Nick gritted, unsure what to do since he had no idea what was creeping toward them from a few rows away. “Just don’t run. If there’s some kind of animal in here with us, the worst thing you can do is run.”

*******************************************************************************************

That little bitch, Warren thought petulantly as he walked down the dim hallway. The hallway that stretched on for the length of a city block. It was such bullshit. He hadn’t walked this much since he got kicked off his co-ed flag football team in junior high. Fuck her, he thought again as he kicked at a piece of crumpled paper on the tile floor, missed, and stumbled sideways. At least no one was around to see him. His uppity date was nowhere to be found. She had the gall to shove him away when he tried to fondle her boobs before running away from him. The ungrateful bitch. Warren had used his lunch hour to help her sneak out of high school, had paid her admission into the museum, and wasted his afternoon leading her around the exhibits and thrilling her with his acumen. She owed him a feel. He would just tell all her friends she sucked his dick in his car and have the last laugh.

Sullenly picking at the chipped black paint on his stubby fingers, he turned down yet another pointlessly long hallway. Despite being as blonde as a California It Girl and having a dumpy potatoesque physique, he thought that his crooked guyliner and black skinny jeans that revealed a tantalizing glimpse of a sweaty plumber’s crack gave him the hot goth look the girls liked. Not so much the girls in his peerage at college – they were stuck up bitches anyway, already hounding after the guys who were studying law at Harvard – but the girls who were just about to graduate from high school, just turned eighteen, maybe a little homely and desperate for a date to prom. Those were his preferred prey. He usually had some meager success with them, before their fathers found out about him and heartlessly separated them. It enhanced his view of himself as a tragic, long-suffering Shakespearean love interest who had turned to goth rock to bemoan his existence.

Since Warren had somehow managed to get turned around inside the maze of hallways until after it closed for the day, the museum was also devoid of employees. He thought it was only a matter of time before he ran into a security guard. He had a story lined up for why he was inside after hours, a grand tale that emphasized his victimhood. Maybe he could even end up with his name in the paper over it. That would really impress the girls.

Now, Warren lumbered along a random hallway, trying to find his way to an exit. He needed to find an elevator first. He had sneaked into some kind of service elevator with the girl and gone down several floors in his search for privacy. He thought he was in some kind of storage area or basement now, every room he passed was vacant save for troves of weird antiques. He had found the door to a stairwell a few turns back down the hallway, but he wasn’t about to walk up several flights of stairs. His day had been shit enough so far without climbing stairs.

After what seemed like an eternity, he came to a pair of double doors marked B Archives. He couldn’t remember the last time he had walked so far. He must have put in over two miles inside this stupid museum already. Like, a month’s worth of walking. Maybe there was a desk inside with a chair he could rest in even if he couldn’t find an employee to lead him out of this suckhole.

Success! Inside the B Archives were rows of forgotten looking shelves that Warren couldn’t give a shit less about, but there was also an office with an open door and the promise of a desk and cushy chair. The lights were on inside, giving him the additional hope that some diligent employee still remained there after hours.

“Hey?” he called out to anyone who might answer. His voice echoed eerily down the rows and off the tile like tumbleweeds rolling down the streets of a ghost town. “Is there anyone here? I need some directions to the way out.”

Something sounded in response from far back in the archives, down one of the dim rows. It sounded like a startled step, like he had caught someone off guard and they had turned around fast.

“If you could call a guard or even just tell me how to find the exit, that would be great,” Warren shouted. He walked toward the sound, down toward the back of the archives past the ends of the phalanx of aisles. A strange feeling began to creep into his senses, like the uneasy feeling he got when he watched horror movies alone. The feeling that had made him instigate a rule that he didn’t watch scary movies after nine. He even thought he heard the sound of something breathing heavily. Maybe he needed to ration his porn intake too, now he was blending porn sound effects with horror reactions. He mumbled to himself, “Who wouldn’t be creeped out by all this stupid old shit?”

Warren hadn’t paid attention to the way his walk had slowed without him meaning to or the way his mouth had gone dry. He jumped like he had bumped into an electric fence when one of the lightbulbs overhead surged then dimmed. He was glad the girl had run off now, so she couldn’t see him sweat and his hands shake. He heard something down the aisle to his left, something like a single impatient rap of nails on a desk.

The flickering of a waning yellow bulb drew his attention down the aisle. In the flickering light, it looked like something was moving in the aisle, just beyond the reach of the light on the far side. Something crouched and hulking in the shadows. It must be a trick of the dim light. That and being a little freaked out from being stuck down here all alone for what felt like hours. Still, Warren wished he had worn his smudged glasses. He didn’t wear them when he was trying to impress a girl because they weren’t cool.

He was focusing too hard on the shadows. Focus too hard on something and it can seem like the thing is moving. It was a common optical illusion, and the flickering light didn’t help. It made the weird shape in the shadows look like an animal with its head lowered, stealthily sneaking toward him down the aisle.

“Fuck this,” Warren exclaimed, throwing his hands up like an overwrought woman. He didn’t need to be in the creepy old room in the creepy old museum basement. At least the never-ending hallways weren’t filled to the brim with weird antiques.

Down the aisle something sniffed, like someone with a runny nose. Something definitely moved just beyond the light.

“Shit’s probably haunted,” he decided. That made it easier. He was a staunch Ghost Hunters fan and he’d learned a thing or two from them. Forcing a laugh, he added, “Suck my balls, ghosts!”

Turning on his heel in a flippant insult to the ghosts, he walked briskly back the way he had come. He heard something else, seemingly misplaced inside the haunted archives. He very distinctly heard the sound of a footfall and what sounded like a muffled voice, maybe two if one was whispering, coming from deeper down one of the aisles. But it was immediately overshadowed by the sound of a heavy body rushing down the aisle with the flickering light, and nails scraping on tile. Or claws.

Looking back over his shoulder, Warren saw a huge dark body moving fast down the aisle toward him in a kind of lope. An animal, grunting and running toward him. His mind couldn’t process all the details, or it didn’t want to. What his mind hitched on were the teeth. When the creature ran through the scant pool of light, vicious exposed teeth glinted inside its snarling jaws.

Warren ran.

The beast lunged after its prey with the instinct of a predator to chase after a fleeing animal. Warren felt it when the beast gave chase, like the stale air had chilled and all the ghosts inside the archives were watching him. Claws scrambling on tile and heavy galloping echoed behind him, punctuated by grunts.

Warren could see the exit door. It wasn’t far. He could make it. Trying to make his legs pump faster, he looked back over his shoulder. The creature had rounded the end of the aisle and was charging straight at him in large bounding strides. It was bigger than a lion with terrible yellow eyes and teeth like ivory daggers. And it was close.

With a sob, Warren tried to eke out more speed from his already failing legs, but his steps were clumsy and his breathing labored. All that walking all day had done him in. Something slammed into his back, heavy and sharp at the same time, sending him careening forward face down onto the tile. His back felt like it was on fire, stinging and melting at the same time with hot fluid slicking his shirt to his skin.

Crying, Warren looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the creature’s mouth open as it came in for the killing bite. But the beast sat on its haunches, poised like a giant cat, flicking a broad reptilian tail from side to side and drumming the claws of its forepaw on the tile. It watched him with evil yellow eyes, and it waited. With another blubbering sob, Warren staggered up to his feet and tried to run again. He didn’t get as far this time, only a few steps. The beast bounded after him, swiping one of its razor-clawed paws at Warren’s legs. Warren felt his flesh tear as his feet gave out from under him and he collapsed again. He had played enough gory video games to guess the beast had clawed through his calf on one leg and severed his Achilles tendon on the other.

The creature paused again, watching its crippled prey with a curiously cocked head as the pitiful human crawled away, one foot turned the wrong direction and flopping lifelessly on the floor, leaving a wide swatch of delicious smelling blood in its wake.

Warren couldn’t stand back up this time, and he barely had enough gumption left to crawl. After a few desperate flailing attempts, he turned over and flopped onto his back. He stared at the horrendous beast, his watery eyes meeting those of fearsome yellow. With a sickening horror that churned in his bowels he realized what the beast was doing. It was playing with him. The fucking monster was toying with him like a cat with a mouse. The beast cocked its head to the other side as it gave an impatient flick of its tail. Just like a cat with a mouse, the fun was over when the mouse stopped running.

Warren swore he saw an excited gleam flash inside those eyes as the monster lunged at him one final time. He looked into its ravenous eyes, as a heavy weight landed on his chest, pinning him in place. He felt his body being ripped open from throat to crotch with a sound like tearing burlap. The pain was extraordinary, but he couldn’t close his eyes against it.

Gruesome wet smacking noises filled the archive and Warren’s body jerked, tugged from someplace deep inside. He tried to scream but couldn’t with his diaphragm slashed open. Warren was still very much alive when the monster started eating him.

*******************************************************************************************

Nick could hear it clearly now, a heavy body moving with great stealth and wet breathing. Closing in on them from a couple aisles away. There could be no doubt, no mistaking it for the noises of an old room or for scuttling vermin. He had placed his body between the approaching animal and the woman. It was a protective male instinct and gallant, but not an act that would be overly helpful if the thing attacked them. A human’s top speed was equivalent to a chicken. If an Olympic sprinter would have a hard time outrunning a rooster, Nick had no delusions that he could outrun an apex predator. All running would do would trigger it into attacking. He also didn’t think he could fight it off, not if it really wanted to attack. He didn’t have a weapon and humans were really quite feeble animals without their tools. He knew the ways a man could try to survive a predator attack – play dead with a grizzly, fight a black bear, shout at a lion to try to scare it off. None of them would work if the animal really wanted to get him. Then, a man could only hope the animal lost interest before it killed him. Balling his fists, he decided that if it came to a fight, he’d fight until his last breath. Or until he was torn apart.

“Hey! Is there anyone here? I need some directions to the way out,” an unfamiliar voice sounded through the archives.

Nick froze, every sense piqued. He reached behind him and grabbed Alice’s hand, squeezing tightly, silently willing her to stay calm and quiet. He didn’t know the woman and he hoped to hell she had enough sense to stay still and silent, not to yell back toward the stranger or to run in his direction. A mistake like that would be their death sentence. Alice squeezed his hand back, reassuring him, and placed her other hand on his back. The monstrous beast had stilled, its attention captured by the noisome intruder instead of the quieter, more boring quarry. It sniffed the air, assessing the stranger.

Each heartbeat pounded in Nick’s ears like war drums, each second an agony as they waited for the monster to decide which prey it wanted to hunt. With frightening quickness, the beast turned and vanished into the shadowy depths of the aisle.

Keeping hold of Alice’s hand, Nick turned to her and met her eyes. Very deliberately, he brought his forefinger to his lips in the universal gesture for utter silence. He tugged her with him down the aisle in the opposite direction the creature had gone. They heard the stranger’s voice asking the room if someone could tell him how to find the exit. Nick led Alice away from the stranger and away from the beast.

The unknown man was toast. There was nothing Nick could do, and he wasn’t going to waste the life of a woman trying to save a man he didn’t know. He was also smart enough or shellfish enough to value his own life over that of a foolhardy stranger. He hoped the fool would distract the monster enough for them to sneak around it and make the exit themselves. His mind raced ahead of his feet, thinking past the exit to the museum. If they made it out of the archives, they would find themselves back in a long, straight hallway with nowhere to hide and no chance of outrunning whatever the hell this animal was.

To reassure himself, he felt his pocket for the museum key card. He didn’t know if it would help them, but without it they had no chance.

The stranger’s footsteps echoed through the archives as the man started walking down along the ends of the forest of aisles. Nick gambled that the beast’s attention was fixed on that sound and that victim. Pulling Alice along beside him, he trotted down the aisle as swiftly as he could while keeping his footsteps light. For such a large man, he could move stealthily, a skill ingrained by a youth spent hunting with his father and refined by a stint in the military. He was pleased that Alice matched him in both pace and silence. He ran to the far end of the aisle, listening to the intermittent mutterings from the idiot bumbling around at the front of the vast room. The beast could no longer be heard, which worried him, but he had gambled on this hand and now he had to let it ride.

The back of the archives was notably darker than the front and even in between the aisles with the temperamental lightbulbs. An animal stink hung in the air along the back wall, as if the animal used this shady area as a trail of sorts. They moved quickly past the ends of the aisles in the direction of the exit. Nick was a step ahead, still holding Alice’s hand. Looking down each aisle they passed, the archives flashed in time with their steps, giving a visual picture of the room pieced together in morse code.

Nick stopped suddenly, causing Alice to collide with his back. He was so solid, she didn’t even knock him off balance, like running into a warm sculpture. He didn’t so much as look down at her, his wide eyes fixed down the aisle. Thirty feet away from them down the aisle, a hulking silhouette crouched in the center. It looked black in the feeble light and had no discernable features, but they could tell it faced away from them by a broad crocodilian tail flicking back and forth as it watched and waited. Nick didn’t dare move again, not even to step back behind the end of the aisle. It was blind luck the beast had been so focused on the stranger that it hadn’t seen or heard them creeping up at its back. His heart thundered so loudly in his own ears that he thought the beast must surely hear it too.

“Suck my balls, ghosts!” the fool shouted from the end of the aisle, then he started marching away back toward the exit. The beast’s tail stilled, as it watched its prey retreat.

Nick squeezed Alice’s hand, a signal to make ready. The stranger hadn’t taken three steps when the beast launched itself forward down the aisle, entirely focused on its prey. Nick whispered urgently, his voice little more than a growled breath, “Now, we run!”

Nick charged ahead, sprinting full tilt down the back of the archives, pulling Alice along with him. She gripped his hand tight, letting herself be all but dragged along, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground. There was no other way she could keep pace with his long surging stride. Their running footsteps were overshadowed by the sharp sound of claws scrambling on tile and a heavy pounding gallop, then by the sobbing screams of the stranger when the beast caught him. There was no mistaking the anguished cries that filled the archive like a whirring saw in a butcher shop.

At the end of the room, Nick careened around the last aisle, his boots slipping on the tile, and pushed himself even harder down the last straight stretch along the wall toward the door. The screaming continued, now imbued with a gurgling wet quality and sickening chewing and crunching. Alice had heard sounds like that before on National Geographic shows featuring lions over a kill. A meaty abattoir smell engulfed them as they raced down the aisle, bringing them closer to both the beast and the exit.

There was open space at the front of the room, where the beast presently feasted on its dying prey. About fifteen feet worth of open floor between the ends of the aisles and the exit door. There was no option of hiding or stealth when they crossed it. Nick made a mad dash when he reached the end of the aisle, bursting out onto the open floor like a pheasant breaking cover in front of a hound.

The beast reared up from its kill, startled by the two humans erupting from the aisle. It took a second to assimilate these new targets, enough time for them to cover half the open floor. Gnashing its bloody jaws, the beast lunged after the two new fleeing morsels. It landed on forepaws slick with blood, its front legs slipping and splaying out on the tile. Its wet claws found no purchase on tile, and the beast fishtailed before getting its balance.

Nick turned loose of Alice’s hand a step before the double doors and barreled into them with his shoulder at full speed. The doors exploded open, shooting splinters of wood out into the hallway, with Nick falling through off-balance. Alice jumped through on his heels and he pushed her ahead of him as he recovered his footing and ran. Reaching into his pocket for the museum badge, he heard the beast grunting and scrambling through the broken wooden doors, very close behind them.

The nearest door down the hallway was marked obscurely Lab 754, a single door with no windows and a scanner beside it. He didn’t know what was inside, but he knew they couldn’t outrun the monster down a straight hallway. Grabbing Alice by the waistband of her jeans, Nick skidded them both to a stop at the door. His fingers felt clumsy when he articulated the badge over the scanner. A militant light flashed red and an insolent tone told him the card was declined.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” Nick growled as Alice’s nails dug painfully into his arm. Turning the badge over so his gawky picture faced outward and the barcode on the back faced the scanner, he pressed it against the scanner again and gripped the doorknob in a blanched white fist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hulking creature charging down the hallway at them, eyes gleaming yellow, teeth glinting white.

A green light flashed, taking too long to approve their entry with a pleasant tone. The beast was another stride closer, close enough to see individual drops of blood slinging from its jaws. The lock slid open with a metallic click. Nick wrenched the doorknob and yanked the door open toward him. Alice rushed inside, but he shoved her ahead of him anyway as he slipped in behind her. The beast crashed into the open door, slamming it shut right behind Nick’s back with violent force. He had thrown himself inside and barreled into Alice, all but tackling her to the floor as he fell and sprawled over her. He cringed involuntarily at the sound of the beast colliding with the wooden door, hunching over Alice beneath him.

All doors opened outward in public buildings like the museum, pursuant to fire code regulations. And most of the doors in this older basement area of the museum were thick, sturdy wood. The door shuddered ominously, but it held.

Nick looked down at Alice from the position of a lover with his hands planted on either side of her head, his hips pinning her down, their chests touching and their noses nearly so. “Are you alright? We have to keep moving. That door won’t hold for long.”

“Waiting on you,” she said breathlessly, shoving on his broad chest to push him back.

The beast roared and hit the door again. This time splinters shot into the room from the dying doorframe like tiny javelins.

Nick pulled her up with him as he pushed up to his feet. They each looked around the room, trying to quickly assess their surroundings. Fluorescent light lined the ceiling instead of weak yellow bulbs. A long central table ran the length of the room piled with what looked like various artifacts and fossils, including the impressive skull of a sabretooth tiger. Chairs were pulled up to the table at intervals, demarcating different workstations. The air inside was cool and crisp and a subtle whirring indicated a local air system. A shop broom leaned in the far corner, its bristles chalky white with bone dust.

“A restoration lab, damn it to hell.” Nick slammed his hand angrily on the tabletop. “We won’t find anything useful in here.” But he began looking anyway as he made his way through the room.

Alice lingered behind him, turning on several bright lamps placed over the table and pointing them at the rapidly weakening door. She turned on one of the drills on the table, leaving it to buzz and bounce across the tabletop. Nick looked at her with a frown and she shrugged and told him, “It might buy us a few more seconds.”

The back of the room ended depressingly in a simple wall. Nick glared at it as if he could burn a hole through the plaster with his anger. He grinned sardonically at Alice, “The hallway makes a U bend. The service elevator we came down in is probably less than twenty away on the other side of this wall. You don’t happen to have a battering ram hidden in your brassier, do you?”

“That would be my other bra,” she said, looking back at the door as it took another thunderous hit, this time accompanied by the squeal of the metal hinges bending inward.

Nick leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling in frustration. His body jerked like he’d been startled and he ran to the broom standing in the corner. Grabbing it, he sprinted back to the far wall, holding it like a spear. Using the wide, bristled head, he rammed it straight up above his head and into the square air vent in the ceiling. Another hard thrust and the vent crumpled and fell out of the ventilation shaft, leaving a gaping square hole in the ceiling ten feet above their heads.

“Here!” he told Alice urgently, clapping his hands together before linking his fingers to form a stirrup with his hands. The beast struck the door again, tearing a hole through the wood. It pawed through the hole with its claws, scraping and tearing at the wood as it snarled in frustration.

“Can you get up there too?” Alice asked as she placed her foot in his hands.

“Don’t think about it,” Nick grunted as he hefted her up into the square vent like she was nothing but a doll. She hoisted her high enough to bring her chest level with the inside of the vent. Planting her elbows on the flat metal and kicking her legs, she struggled inside. Laying on her stomach, she looked back down through the square hole at Nick below.

Bending his knees, he jumped straight up into the vent opening. It was at the far reach of his vertical jump, but his fingers caught the metal lip. But there was no purchase on the slick metal and his hands slipped off almost instantly. Alice leaned down into the opening, reaching a hand down to him.

“Get out of the way!” he waved her hand away. She began to protest, but he shouted, “Can you curl two-thirty-five? Then I’ll only pull you back out with me.”

The beast crashed into the door a final time, bursting into the lab in an explosion of splinters. It halted immediately when the brilliantly bright spotlight hit its eyes, sitting back on its haunches and shaking its head.

“Give me the broom!” Alice said.

Grinning with understanding despite it all, Nick shoved the head of the broom up into her hands. The beast snarled and swiped the light out of its eyes, then turned its attention to the jumping drill and its grating, high-pitched whine. Alice maneuvered the broom so its handle spanned the square opening, wedged as tightly against the sides as she could get it. The beast crushed the drill with its teeth, shaking its head with the drill in its mouth like a dog with a squeaky toy, then throwing it aside. Fixing its ferocious yellow eyes on Nick at the far end of the room, it charged.

Nick bent his knees, looking up at the broom handle inside the vent. He would only get one shot. Swinging his arms, he jumped up with everything he had. The beast swiped at Nick’s legs as he caught the broom handle, but he jerked them up just in time. Using the broom handle like a pull-up bar, he hoisted himself up into the ventilation shaft. Alice shoved herself backward to make room for him as he lunged forward into the small space, making sure his long legs were clear of the opening.

The beast jumped up after him, slamming its head into the metal of the shaft, denting it upwards. Roaring in frustration, it jumped again, making another dent. Then it reared on its hind legs and clawed at the metal. The sound was a terrible, deafening squeal inside the shaft, ringing in their ears. There was enough space for them to crawl on their hands and knees, and Alice crawled frantically away.

“Can’t beat the view,” Nick quipped, following right behind her.

The beast tried jumping at the vent once more before apparently realizing it was futile. The silence when it stopped was much more unnerving than the banging and scratching and snarling had been.

It didn’t take long for them to come to another vent. Looking through the metal slats, Nick quickly assessed they were now over the section of hallway that housed the service elevator. He easily yanked it open and dropped down through it to the floor. Alice lowered herself down feet first until she felt him catch her legs in a reassuring bearhug and let her slide the rest of the way down his body. Holding her against him, he grinned at her and jerked his chin to the side, “Look what we found.”

The service elevator was no more than fifteen feet away. As she sighed with relief, collapsing into Nick’s arms, Alice heard the now familiar sound of clawed feet scrambling on the tile. “It guessed where we were heading!”

They sprinted to the elevator and Nick punched the Up button over and over. The arrow above the doors illuminated green and the bell dinged. But the doors were old and slow to open. The beast rounded the corner of the hallway in a fury of claws and teeth and lather, charging at them with its horrible teeth bared in a snarl. But claws for all their ferocity did not keep traction on smooth tile. When the beast rounded the tight corner, it did so in an uncontrolled skid. The beast scrambled to keep its balance, but it had charged into the corner too fast. Its shoulder slammed into the opposite side of the hallway as it slid, paws flailing haphazardly beneath it, buying its prey an extra second to live. Nick shoved Alice inside when the opening between the doors was still too narrow for him to fit. Even as the doors still opened, she was pushing the button for the upper floor. Nick slipped inside as the beast ran him down, only one good lunge away.

Nick and Alice pressed themselves to the back of the elevator, watching helplessly as death charged at them and the doors closed too slowly. Their view between the doors narrowed with terrible sluggishness until all they could see were those slitted yellow eyes and bloody frothing jaws. The beast lunged at the gap in the doors, striking the metal with a horrendous crash. Saliva and blood spewed through the opening, splattering Alice and Nick, just as the doors closed and the elevator lurched upward.

The doors opened to a main hallway on one of the upper floors, home to the biggest and most popular museum exhibits. Large windows lined this hallway admitting the moonlight and there was enough light in the individual exhibits to allow the security cameras to identify a thief if needed. Many smaller hallways branched off this main one, each leading to an exhibit. They were near the entrance to an exhibit that glowed green in the dim light, labeled Rainforest. A metal stairwell door was beside the elevator.

“Now at least I know where we are,” Nick could have laughed with relief. He ducked into Alice and stole a quick kiss from her lips.

“Freeze!” A militant voice sliced through the silence in the hall. “Put your hands up!”

They turned to see a short and corpulent museum security guard standing behind them, holding a revolver trained on Nick. He had just rounded a corner of the hallway and shuffled toward them as quickly as his pendulous gut would allow, his utility belt jingling with every labored step. Using his gun, the guard gestured from Nick to the far wall, and ordered, “Turn and face that wall right now. And I better see your hands while you’re sniffing plaster. Move!”

“There’s something in here with us,” Alice said, trying to calm the guard. “You need to take us all out before it finds us.”

“I’m sure there is, honey,” the guard sniggered and took a belligerent step toward Nick. “I gave you a command, hoss.”

The security guard held his gun on Nick, the barrel shaking in his uncertain grip. He was the most dangerous sort of person to hold a man at gunpoint – nervous and unfamiliar with a weapon or with apprehending a suspect. Those were the men likely to shoot first and ask questions later, or even shoot accidentally when they shook hard enough to spasm their trigger finger.

“Turn around now!” the guard shouted again, spittle flying from his lips, his jowls quaking.

The guard was too far away from Nick to make a grab for the gun or knock it away. So, he turned, faced the wall, and planted his hands flat on its smooth surface. He made a great effort to keep his voice calm when he spoke over this shoulder, “Look, buddy, there’s something after us. Something chasing us. Something monstrous. None of us are safe here, including you. You have to get us all out right now. Arrest me and charge me with whatever the hell you want, just get us out.”

The guard spoke into the radio clipped to his belt, “I caught someone sneaking around inside the rainforest exhibit. Looks like a pair of lovebirds who broke in to get it on. I need backup. The guy’s giving me hell. He’s a big bastard too. Threatened my safety already.”

“Ten-Four,” a voice crackled through the radio static. “Sending backup. Just cuff ‘em and keep ‘em where you have ‘em until backup gets there.”

Risking a bullet, Nick growled, “Look, you stupid bastard. You can get all the backup you want and you can arrest me. So long as you get us the fuck outta here, and you do it now! We need to move, goddamnit!”

“The big guy is making more threats,” the guard radioed.

The sound of a door being shoved open inside the stairwell echoed behind the door. It sounded like it came from a flight or two below. Alice heard claws scrambling up the stairs. She met Nick’s cool eyes and she winked.

“Excuse me, sir,” Alice said to the guard in a demure tone. “Our friend’s in the stairwell. Go see for yourself. He’s the one you want to arrest.”

“What the Christ are you all doing in here?” the guard scoffed. “Bunch of assholes ruining my night to have a goddamn orgy!”

The scrambling reached the nearest steps, the sound of a heavy body closing in on the door. The guard heard it too. Keeping his gun pointed at Nick’s back, he stepped to the stairwell door. Grabbing the doorhandle, he yelled with gusto, “Hey asshole, this is museum security. I hear you in there. I’m gonna open the door and I better see your hands!”

He didn’t need to open the door. The door exploded open with a metal screech and a monstrous creature burst from the darkness of the stairwell, aiming for the blustering guard. The guard yanked the trigger when the beast struck him with the force of a wrecking ball, sending a bullet into the wall as man and beast went careening together twenty feet across the floor. Its body had passed Alice by inches, close enough for her to smell the fresh blood and older rancid death on its scaly hide.

Nick shoved away from the wall, grabbing Alice’s arm and running with her in the opposite direction from the carnage. The guard was screaming, but it lasted only as long as a few of their running strides before it was cut off with a wet gurgle and replaced by a sound like an overfull trash bag bursting.

They ran into the thick of the rainforest exhibit, where they were surrounded by vibrant dioramas and luscious vegetation. The windows on this floor admitted silver moonlight, allowing them to see it very clearly. Birds of every color of the spectrum were frozen mid-flight, golden jaguars prowled, and ancient Amazonian architecture formed a visual feast. The highlight of the rainforest exhibit was also the centerpiece of the exhibit hall. A huge glass terrarium filled with tropical vegetation housed an army of living butterflies. Thousands of beautiful butterflies of kaleidoscopic colors flitted through the plants inside in a living whirlwind of colorful wings.

They ran past the butterflies to the far end of the exhibit where another hallway branched off. Nick pointed down it and whispered, “The old west exhibit is just down that way. The guns in there are all functional, and a few of the gunbelts still have live rounds. Maybe…”

“Will the bullets still fire after sitting for more than a century?” Alice asked skeptically.

“As long as the primers haven’t gone bad. Or gotten wet. And the cartridges have remained sealed, and the gunpowder hasn’t leaked out.” He grinned sardonically.

“So, probably not,” Alice surmised.

“Probably not,” Nick agreed. “But do you have a better idea?”

The beast entered the rainforest exhibit with its nose held high, sniffing the air. Nick pulled Alice to him and backed against the wall, hiding them as best he could behind an Amazonian monolith decorated with carvings of ancient deities. The beast froze, its eyes fixed ahead, its posture rigid. It looked as if it stared right at them through the length of the butterfly terrarium. With an excited grunt, the beast swiped at the end of the glass cage, breaking it open, and jumped inside. Thousands of butterflies came to life like confetti, fluttering around the beast that had disturbed them. The beast was captivated, cocking its head curiously at the butterflies, flicking its tail as it swiped its paws at them and tried to chomp them between its jaws. It jumped and twisted and twirled inside the terrarium like a cat confronted with a thousand laser dots. It grunted happily as it pounced on a large Monarch then snorted when another flew at its nose.

Slowly, Nick pulled Alice with him toward the hall leading to the old west exhibit. They edged along the wall at a crawling pace so as not to draw the beast’s attention while it chomped and swiped at the whirlwind of butterflies. The old west exhibit came into view at the end of the hallway, horses and cowboys and bison materializing in the dim light. Nick brought his lips to Alice’s ear and told her, “You go grab all the guns you can find. I’ll start looking through the gunbelts for live rounds. .45’s and 30-30’s are going to be our best bets for a match.”

She nodded her understanding as another sound boomed through the hall. The sound of several running footsteps and the clink of metal. Narrow beams of light bounced around inside the old west exhibit from flashlights held by running men.

Nick stopped short, his hold on her arm keeping Alice beside him. He pulled her down with him when he dropped to his knees, raising his hands above his head in a clear posture of supplication, just as several armed security guards ran into the hallway from the old west exhibit. The light hit Nick’s face, momentarily blinding him, as the men rushed them, guns drawn. Alice looked behind them and saw a huge shadow looming in the entrance to the rainforest exhibit, watching them with gleaming eyes. The guard’s light didn’t reach it and they were too focused on Nick to notice the real threat. The shadow seemed to disintegrate back into the darkness like a receding nightmare. The beast must be intelligent enough to avoid confronting so many drawn firearms. Or it was simply biding its time for the right moment.

“You’re under arrest!” the lead guard shouted as he rushed Nick. Turning him bodily around, he shoved him to his stomach with his face pressed into the tile and yanked his arms behind his back.

“We didn’t do anything, you idiot!” Alice said futility. “There’s something in here with us.”

“Save it, lady,” the guard said gruffly. “You both have the right to remain silent and I suggest you fucking use it.” He prodded his gun rudely into Nick’s back and cuffed his hands. “I heard all about you on the radio. Some big bastard resisting arrest after breaking in. And I saw some of your handiwork already.”

“You have to listen, it wasn’t me,” Nick gritted. “There’s some kind of animal in here with us.”

“Yeah, get started on that insanity defense right off the bat, you murdering sonofabitch,” the guard hissed. “Just keep talking so I can testify to all your bullshit.”

Two guards came and hefted Nick up by his arms, yanking them painfully back and straining his shoulders. Alice looked at him when he stood, giving him her steadiest and most reassuring gaze. “Don’t tell them anything. It won’t do you any good. Let your lawyer do the talking for you.” She winked at him for the second time that night. “I promise you have a good one.”

*******************************************************************************************

 © safarigirlsp 2024

Tagging some buddies!

@babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @reyloaddict55 @reylokisses @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @thepalaceofmelanie @reveluving @fax4life27 @vedavan @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus @lumberjack00fantasies

[rabbitcruiser]

National Day of the Cowboy

Saddle up and get ready to ride into the sunset with the thrill and excitement of the Wild West! Cowboys are the ultimate symbol of grit, determination, and adventure.

Giddyup! Ride ‘em Cowboy!

Celebrate this symbol of the American West by learning about and appreciating the National Day of the Cowboy.

History of National Day of the Cowboy

Following the Civil War, many men moved west looking for ways to work and make a living. One of the attractions of the American frontier was the relative freedom, as well as the option to become cowboys who could access free range cattle.

The “Wild West”, beginning in the 1860s through the end of the 19th century, became a time of a bit of chaos on the frontier where gangs of criminals were easily bred. Infamous cowboys, like Billy the Kid, Jesse James, Butch Cassidy and John Wesley Hardin were outlaws who committed various robberies, cattle rustling and even murder.

First sponsored in the US Senate in 2005, National Day of the Cowboy was originally brought about by Wyoming’s US Senator at the time, Craig Thomas.

Former president Bush said this about the National Day of the Cowboy: “We celebrate the Cowboy as a symbol of the grand history of the American West. The Cowboy’s love of the land and love of the country are examples for all Americans.”

National Day of the Cowboy Timeline

1725

The term “cowboy” is first being used 

Jonathan Swift uses the word in his famous book, Gulliver’s Travels, but it really just means a boy who tends cows.

Mid-1800s

The “Wild West” period begins

After the American Civil War, many men head to Texas where free-ranging cattle are available for any cowboy who wants to round them up – and the popularity of eating beef increases.

1875

“Billy the Kid” is first arrested 

This infamous cowboy criminal is a gunfighter, murderer, fugitive, cattle rustler, and eventually dies at the young age of 21.

1930

John Wayne first appears in film 

The Big Trail is the first movie that actor “Duke” Morrison makes in what will be a series of more than 75 films over his lifetime.

1960

Dallas Cowboys are founded 

In the early days of the National Football League (NFL), the Dallas Cowboys franchise was established and went on to become an extremely popular team.

How to Celebrate National Day of the Cowboy

Celebrating National Day of the Cowboy can be loads of fun in a variety of ways! Try out some of these delightful ideas to enjoy the day:

Dress Like a Cowboy

This can be a way to connect with your inner cowboy by wearing some special gear to work, to school or just while running daily errands. Try out some basic blue jeans, some clever cowboy boots, a leather vest and a western shirt (complete with shell snaps!).

Perhaps try a bolo tie or a handkerchief tied around the neck. And, of course, it would be appropriate to top it all off with an enormous cowboy hat. The bigger, the better!

Listen to a Cowboy Song Playlist

Because they typically hail from the southwest, cowboys may have a particular style of music they enjoy. National Day of the Cowboy would be a perfect time to create a list of songs that give a nod to the tunes of these unique characters:

Mommas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboysby Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson (1978). This one was originally recorded by Ed Bruce in 1976, but this more popular version was recorded two years later.

Cowboy Take Me Away by The Chicks–formerly Dixie Chicks (1999). A play on the phrase “Calgon Take Me Away”, from the famous slogan from bath product commercials, this song reached #1 on the US Billboard Hot Country Singles and Tracks chart in February 2000.

Cowboy Cassanova by Carrie Underwood (2009). Released on Underwood’s third studio album, Play On, the single was certified 2x Platinum.

The Cowboy in Me by Tim McGraw (2001). Written by Jeffrey Steele, Al Anderson and Craig Wiseman, this song made it to #1 on the Billboard Hot Country Singles and Tracks chart that year.

Visit a Rodeo

A great time for enjoying all things related to National Day of the Cowboy, visiting the rodeo can be an amazing experience! Regular events include activities such as steer wrestling, bull riding, calf roping, steer roping, bareback horse, barrel racing and saddle bronc riding. Of course, don’t forget the scorecard for keeping score.

Don’t forget to wear the above-mentioned cowboy gear when headed to the rodeo. Those who are lucky might get to see a rodeo clown. Perhaps even try riding the mechanical bull!

Follow Some Sage Cowboy Advice

Cowboys from the Wild West have lived a great deal of life and have tons of experience! With all of that experience comes a great deal of wisdom and they have often been known to share their advice with others in clever phrases, like “Don’t squat with your spurs on”, or “Never corner something meaner than you”.

Enjoy a few of these phrases and consider sharing them with friends, family and coworkers in honor of National Day of the Cowboy. Some of them might even be fun to have printed on a t-shirt to wear on the day:

“Don’t go in if you don’t know the way out.”

“If you get thrown from a horse, you have to get up and get back on, unless you landed on a cactus; then you have to roll around and scream in pain.”

“Some cowboys have too much tumbleweed in their blood to settle down.”

“If you’re ridin’ ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it’s still there with ya.”

Watch Some Cowboy Movies

One of the great film settings of all time, the Wild West is the perfect place for cowboy movies to be made! This day offers a great time to enjoy a collection of classic Western movies in honor of National Day of the Cowboy! Try out one (or all!) of these:

True Grit (1969). One of John Wayne’s most famous movies, this film features a US Marshal and Texas Ranger who chases down a murderer in dangerous territory. It was remade in 2010, starring Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, Hailee Steinfeld and Josh Brolin.

Rango (2011). Fun for adults and family members alike, this computer animated Western comedy film stars Johnny Depp who voices a chameleon character who accidentally gets stranded in the desert.

The Lone Ranger (1956). This classic cowboy film was based on the American television series of the same name that was from 1949-1957, starring Clayton Moore and Jay Silverheels.

No Country for Old Men (2007). Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin and Woody Harrelson are the all-star cast in this modern Western crime thriller movie created by the Coen brothers. Based on the 2005 novel of the same name by Cormac McCarthy, this film won a huge array of film awards.

Are cowboys real?

Yes. Although they are less common than they may have been several decades ago, the American cowboy continues in places like Colorado, Texas, Montana, and even Connecticut.

How did cowboys dress?

Cowboys are known for their pointy leather cowboy boots, vests with pockets and very large cowboy hats.

What are cowboy hats made of?

Cowboy hats are typically made of either felt or straw. Less commonly, they can be made of leather.

Do cowboys ride cows?

No! Cowboys ride horses, of course. They are called cowboys because they take care of and drive cattle herds.

How do cowboys talk?

Depending on where they are from, cowboys may have unique phrases like “Howdy Partner”, “Giddyup”, “City Slicker”, and “Head ‘em up and move ‘em out”.

Source

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

I'm Just A Hop Head • High On A Rocky Ledge • Do Your Thing • Enough About Human Rights • I'm This, I'm That • Aska Me • I'm In The World • Here's To John Wesley Hardin • Choo-Choo Lullaby • Pigmy Pig

Spotify ♪ Bandcamp ♪ YouTube

[thethirdgenesisbooks]

Five Ways to Name Your Characters

One of the most common problems that authors, especially new authors, complain about is how difficult it is to come up with good names for their characters. Over my many years of writing, I’ve developed a few ways to name characters in stories. Here are a few. Bear in mind, some of these pieces of advice are genre-specific.

Babynames.com:

The site babynames.com is a great source for names from different countries and cultures. You can also look up name meanings or look up the names by the letters that are in them. In general, I recommend against having two main characters in your novel who have names beginning with the same letter, as this can cause confusion. For instance, you shouldn’t have both a “Robert” and a “Roger” among your main characters, because readers will mix them up. Also, while name meanings can be important, I urge you to consider the other factors as well. How does the name sound when spoken out loud? Does the name have negative connotations because of famous people who shared the name (for instance, the name “Adolph” means “Wolf,” which might be cool for some characters, but I strongly recommend against using that name because of its association with a certain, hated historical figure). Also, consider what nationality a character likely has if they have a certain name. A Caucasian boy living in modern California should not have a name like “Shinji,” unless he happened to be raised by Japanese parents, just as a native Japanese boy living in Tokyo should not be called “Stanley.”

Historical Records:

If you are writing in a certain place and time period, it can be helpful to look up names from that place and time period to create your character names. For example, when I was writing my westerns, sometimes I’d do a Google search for names of people who lived I the Old West. Then, I’d take the first name of one person and the last name of another and put them together. One instance of this would be to take Billy the Kid’s real name (Henry McCarty) and combine it with the name of another Old West outlaw, John Wesley Hardin. Together, we get the names Wesley McCarty and Henry Hardin. If you’re writing a modern story, you can also do this with the names of people you know, or other interesting names you see and hear. When you go to a restaurant to eat, pay attention to the nametags of the people serving you, as you might find a name you really like there.

Mythology:

I recommend only using mythology as a source for names if you are writing fantasy or science fiction stories. If you write a modern murder mystery and your detective’s name is “Thor Odinson,” a lot of readers are going to roll their eyes. I’d also recommend not using terribly well-known mythological names either. Names like Thor, Odin, Apollo, Zeus, Horus, Osirus, Aphrodite, Artemis, Athena, Freya, and Isis are far too well-known to be used, unless you have characters in the setting specifically point out the namesake. Names Fenris, Morrigan, Dorian, and Mordred are also far too common, and their inclusion in fantasy might well pull readers out of the story (again, unless your intention is to specifically invoke parallels to these mythological figures). However, names like Nikke, Selene, Eris, Argus, and Dia are a little more obscure and are less likely to take your reader out of the story. You can also look up the etymology of these names and find alternative ways that they were pronounced and spelled, because names in mythology certainly changed over time.

The Bible:

I know, this one is a touchy subject for a lot of people, but bear with me. For one thing, a lot of names in modern America (and in the Western world at large) come from Biblical names. Peter, Matthew, Joshua, Caleb, Paul, Aaron, John, Michael, Luke, Thadeus, and many others all come from the Bible. You don’t need to have Biblical themes in your work in order to use these Biblical names, because a great many people named “Peter” came from secular families who just happened to like the name, or who wanted to honor a loved one who had that name. Also, if you’re looking for names that sound a bit exotic but also feel familiar, the names listed in the various “begat” sections of the Bible (where it’s just one name after another) can be helpful. I’d just recommend looking up what the name means before using it. I made the mistake of not looking up a name meaning once, and named a villain in one of my stories “Zadok,” a name which means “Righteous.” Those who knew the name meaning would likely either laugh at the irony or just consider me ignorant. Thankfully, I never finished or published that story. In any event, the Bible can be a great source of names.

Alter Real Names:

Sometimes when writing something futuristic, you don’t want real names for your characters, either from modern times or earlier, neither will mythological or Biblical names work in your futuristic setting. We can’t all be Frank Herbert, who’s coming up with such names as Muadib, Atreides, Harkonnen, and Feyd-Rautha, or words like Bene Gesserit, Kwisatz-Haderach, Ginaz, and Faufreluches. Some of us are a little too grounded in reality for that, and often overly-complex words and names such as these end up confusing our readers. So, in order to make a futuristic name, perhaps start with a real name that exists today, and then change a few letters. Maybe remove some letters, add others, and rearrange some. Just as popular names in the real world change over time (see the various ways of spelling such names as “Sean” and “Geoff”), so too would futuristic names change over the years. Even so, your main character probably shouldn’t have too exotic of a name. Maybe give the main character a name that’s one, maybe two syllables long, but spelled slightly differently from its modern equivalent. For example, you may want a main character named “Nick,” but in a futuristic story it might be better to spell it “Nyk.” Or perhaps you want to name your character “John,” and a futuristic version of that name might be “Chon” or “Jahnn.” In any event, changing or rearranging letters in an existing name can be a great way to make your character feel more fantastical or futuristic.

These are just a few examples of how to name your characters. There are still many things to keep in mind, such as cultural context, the way the names sound when spoke out loud, negative connotations or associations of a particular name, name meaning, and whether the name is setting appropriate.

[determinate-negation]

Enough About Human Rights - Moondog

"A striking presence on the streets of New York City between the late 1940s and the early 1970s, the composer, poet and street performer known as Moondog would become as iconic a part of the city’s cultural architecture as the Brooklyn Bridge. Taking up his almost daily position on the corner of 54th Street and the Avenue of the Americas (known to cops and cabbies as “Moondog’s Corner”), the man whom passers-by would eventually call the “Viking of Sixth Avenue” was an imposing yet mesmerising oasis of calm on the busy streets of the Big Apple.

The son of an Episcopal minister, and a distant cousin of the infamous Old West outlaw John Wesley Hardin, his musical influences were cemented early on—initially by the sounds of ragtime and military brass bands. These left a pervasive swing influence in his work, as well as a penchant for brass instruments.

The second influence was one that he likened to a metaphysical experience—as a child visiting a nearby Arapaho tribe with his father, he witnessed a traditional Sun Dance ceremony, later sitting in the lap of their chief Yellow Calf whilst playing a tom-tom made of buffalo hide. This revelatory moment was arguably the spark that gave birth to Moondog’s unique sense of rhythm, which he nicknamed “snaketime”—a slippery, pulsing rhythm often using five or seven beats to a measure, that a ballerina friend first referred to as “snaky”. x

"[...] as his career progressed, his music encompassed influences from bebop, swing, rumba, modernism and Renaissance music. It was characterized by what he called "snaketime" and described as "a slithery rhythm, in times that are not ordinary [...] I'm not gonna die in 4/4 time". x

[lyinar]

You could set a Western in 1868 and have it involve a Samurai who left Japan instead of turning in his sword, a member of the proto-IRA Fenian Brotherhood annoyed that the US Government only deigned to let them have a couple of goes at British forces in Canada before telling them to knock it off, Buffalo Bill Cody in the middle of the 350-mile ride that got him the job of Chief of Scouts for the 5th Cavalry, and a fifteen-year-old John Wesley Hardin on the run after his first murder.

An exile from a country that no longer had need of him, a man fighting for the rebirth of his country, the man who made the legend of the West, and a teenager who'd just killed the first of dozens of men to die looking down his guns from the wrong end.

every western movie ever made: The wild west is dying. theres no more room left for cowboys anymore…

me everytime: :(

[perfectlyjollywombat]

The Rich History and Culture of El Paso, Texas

Introduction

El Paso, Texas is a metropolis filthy wealthy in historical prior and approach of life. From its beginnings as a frontier outpost to its present-day popularity as a brilliant cosmopolitan middle, El Paso has vast it all. This article will delve into the astounding thoughts and traditions that skills fashioned the urban, exploring each one arena from its Native American roots to its existing-day art work scene. So seize a cup of espresso and get smartly prepared to embark on a ride with the exquisite marvelous resource of the filthy wealthy historic past and system of life of El Paso, Texas.

The Native American Influence: The Rich History and Culture of El Paso, Texas The Origins of El Paso

El Paso's facts dates lower lower back heaps of years while a noticeable range of Native American tribes inhabited the sphere. The part now's by and large which is called El Paso was once as soon as homestead to the Mansos, Suma, Jumano, Apache, and thoroughly diverse tribes who trusted the Rio Grande for sustenance. These tribes left in the back of a long-lasting legacy which will although be sizeable as of late in part names and archaeological internet websites.

Spanish Exploration and Settlement

In 1598, Spanish explorer Don Juan de Oñate led an day commute into the arena and confirmed a agreement quite lots that may be often called "Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe del Paso del Norte." This settlement served as a fighting aspect for Spanish settlers touring alongside the Camino Real change route among Mexico City and Santa Fe. Over time, it grew striking perfect right into a thriving trading coronary heart.

Mexican Independence and the Texas Revolution

After Mexico gained independence from Spain in 1821, El Paso became top laser hair removal spots nearby component of Mexican territory. However, here is in a position to instantly amendment with the arriving of American settlers in inside of succeed in Texas. Tensions amongst Mexico and the United States eventually brought about the Texas Revolution in 1836. As a have an end result on, El Paso realized itself at the middle of fight inside the path of this turbulent length.

The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo

The Mexican-American War led to 1848 with the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. This treaty widely used the Rio Grande considering that the border amongst Mexico and the U.S., solidifying El Paso's community within American territory. The urban experienced quick expand as worker's flocked to the nearby trying monetary percentages.

The Wild West Era

The overdue nineteenth century added about the Wild West iteration, and El Paso grew to be no exception. The the town changed into a widespread transportation hub for farm animals drives and stagecoach routes, attracting cowboys, outlaws, and prospectors. It transformed into suitable just by way of this time that infamous figures an exact to John Wesley Hardin and Billy the Kid left their mark on El Paso's background.

El Paso's Cultural Melting Pot: The Rich History and Culture of El Paso, Texas Border Town Vibes

Located useful on the border CoolSculpting close to me with Mexico, El Paso has a the tremendously a number of cultural combine that gadgets it with the exception of selected towns in Texas. Its proximity to Ciudad Juárez has prompted every single and each point from its diet to its music. Visitors can event a original fusion of Mexican and American everyday life as

[historydailyfrancischappellblack]

On August 19, 1895, John Wesley Hardin, one of the most vicious and prolific killers in the American Old West, is murdered by an off-duty policeman in a saloon in El Paso, Texas.

#HistoryDailywithFranciChappellBlack

[blogcowboyron]

THIS DAY IN HISTORY

AUGUST 19 TH 2024 On this day in history, August 19 th , 1895, 129 years ago today, John Wesley Hardin wasmurdered. John Wesley Hardin was a famous gunman of the old west. He grew up in the south. He wasonly a child when the Civil war broke out. His sympathies lay with the Confederacy. He did notlike Yankees, or the fact that black people were not allowed to be slaves any more. At 15 yearsold…

[rabbitcruiser]

National Day of the Cowboy

Saddle up and get ready to ride into the sunset with the thrill and excitement of the Wild West! Cowboys are the ultimate symbol of grit, determination, and adventure.

Giddyup! Ride ‘em Cowboy!

Celebrate this symbol of the American West by learning about and appreciating the National Day of the Cowboy.

History of National Day of the Cowboy

Following the Civil War, many men moved west looking for ways to work and make a living. One of the attractions of the American frontier was the relative freedom, as well as the option to become cowboys who could access free range cattle.

The “Wild West”, beginning in the 1860s through the end of the 19th century, became a time of a bit of chaos on the frontier where gangs of criminals were easily bred. Infamous cowboys, like Billy the Kid, Jesse James, Butch Cassidy and John Wesley Hardin were outlaws who committed various robberies, cattle rustling and even murder.

First sponsored in the US Senate in 2005, National Day of the Cowboy was originally brought about by Wyoming’s US Senator at the time, Craig Thomas.

Former president Bush said this about the National Day of the Cowboy: “We celebrate the Cowboy as a symbol of the grand history of the American West. The Cowboy’s love of the land and love of the country are examples for all Americans.”

National Day of the Cowboy Timeline

1725

The term “cowboy” is first being used 

Jonathan Swift uses the word in his famous book, Gulliver’s Travels, but it really just means a boy who tends cows.

Mid-1800s

The “Wild West” period begins

After the American Civil War, many men head to Texas where free-ranging cattle are available for any cowboy who wants to round them up – and the popularity of eating beef increases.

1875

“Billy the Kid” is first arrested 

This infamous cowboy criminal is a gunfighter, murderer, fugitive, cattle rustler, and eventually dies at the young age of 21.

1930

John Wayne first appears in film 

The Big Trail is the first movie that actor “Duke” Morrison makes in what will be a series of more than 75 films over his lifetime.

1960

Dallas Cowboys are founded 

In the early days of the National Football League (NFL), the Dallas Cowboys franchise was established and went on to become an extremely popular team.

How to Celebrate National Day of the Cowboy

Celebrating National Day of the Cowboy can be loads of fun in a variety of ways! Try out some of these delightful ideas to enjoy the day:

Dress Like a Cowboy

This can be a way to connect with your inner cowboy by wearing some special gear to work, to school or just while running daily errands. Try out some basic blue jeans, some clever cowboy boots, a leather vest and a western shirt (complete with shell snaps!).

Perhaps try a bolo tie or a handkerchief tied around the neck. And, of course, it would be appropriate to top it all off with an enormous cowboy hat. The bigger, the better!

Listen to a Cowboy Song Playlist

Because they typically hail from the southwest, cowboys may have a particular style of music they enjoy. National Day of the Cowboy would be a perfect time to create a list of songs that give a nod to the tunes of these unique characters:

Mommas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboysby Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson (1978). This one was originally recorded by Ed Bruce in 1976, but this more popular version was recorded two years later.

Cowboy Take Me Away by The Chicks–formerly Dixie Chicks (1999). A play on the phrase “Calgon Take Me Away”, from the famous slogan from bath product commercials, this song reached #1 on the US Billboard Hot Country Singles and Tracks chart in February 2000.

Cowboy Cassanova by Carrie Underwood (2009). Released on Underwood’s third studio album, Play On, the single was certified 2x Platinum.

The Cowboy in Me by Tim McGraw (2001). Written by Jeffrey Steele, Al Anderson and Craig Wiseman, this song made it to #1 on the Billboard Hot Country Singles and Tracks chart that year.

Visit a Rodeo

A great time for enjoying all things related to National Day of the Cowboy, visiting the rodeo can be an amazing experience! Regular events include activities such as steer wrestling, bull riding, calf roping, steer roping, bareback horse, barrel racing and saddle bronc riding. Of course, don’t forget the scorecard for keeping score.

Don’t forget to wear the above-mentioned cowboy gear when headed to the rodeo. Those who are lucky might get to see a rodeo clown. Perhaps even try riding the mechanical bull!

Follow Some Sage Cowboy Advice

Cowboys from the Wild West have lived a great deal of life and have tons of experience! With all of that experience comes a great deal of wisdom and they have often been known to share their advice with others in clever phrases, like “Don’t squat with your spurs on”, or “Never corner something meaner than you”.

Enjoy a few of these phrases and consider sharing them with friends, family and coworkers in honor of National Day of the Cowboy. Some of them might even be fun to have printed on a t-shirt to wear on the day:

“Don’t go in if you don’t know the way out.”

“If you get thrown from a horse, you have to get up and get back on, unless you landed on a cactus; then you have to roll around and scream in pain.”

“Some cowboys have too much tumbleweed in their blood to settle down.”

“If you’re ridin’ ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it’s still there with ya.”

Watch Some Cowboy Movies

One of the great film settings of all time, the Wild West is the perfect place for cowboy movies to be made! This day offers a great time to enjoy a collection of classic Western movies in honor of National Day of the Cowboy! Try out one (or all!) of these:

True Grit (1969). One of John Wayne’s most famous movies, this film features a US Marshal and Texas Ranger who chases down a murderer in dangerous territory. It was remade in 2010, starring Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, Hailee Steinfeld and Josh Brolin.

Rango (2011). Fun for adults and family members alike, this computer animated Western comedy film stars Johnny Depp who voices a chameleon character who accidentally gets stranded in the desert.

The Lone Ranger (1956). This classic cowboy film was based on the American television series of the same name that was from 1949-1957, starring Clayton Moore and Jay Silverheels.

No Country for Old Men (2007). Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin and Woody Harrelson are the all-star cast in this modern Western crime thriller movie created by the Coen brothers. Based on the 2005 novel of the same name by Cormac McCarthy, this film won a huge array of film awards.

Are cowboys real?

Yes. Although they are less common than they may have been several decades ago, the American cowboy continues in places like Colorado, Texas, Montana, and even Connecticut.

How did cowboys dress?

Cowboys are known for their pointy leather cowboy boots, vests with pockets and very large cowboy hats.

What are cowboy hats made of?

Cowboy hats are typically made of either felt or straw. Less commonly, they can be made of leather.

Do cowboys ride cows?

No! Cowboys ride horses, of course. They are called cowboys because they take care of and drive cattle herds.

How do cowboys talk?

Depending on where they are from, cowboys may have unique phrases like “Howdy Partner”, “Giddyup”, “City Slicker”, and “Head ‘em up and move ‘em out”.

Source

[historiasdelmundo]

En el Viejo Oeste, hubo varios vaqueros temibles que se ganaron su reputación. Uno de ellos fue Billy the Kid, conocido por su habilidad con las armas y su naturaleza despiadada. Otro vaquero temible fue Jesse James, líder de la banda de forajidos James-Younger, que aterrorizó a los pueblos y asaltó trenes. También se destaca el vaquero John Wesley Hardin, conocido por su destreza en el duelo y su participación en numerosos tiroteos. Estos vaqueros dejaron una huella duradera en la historia del Oeste y se les recuerda como figuras legendarias de la época.