It's 9AM
The image that inspired the story.
I’ll send it to you tomorrow as my last mesage until after Christmas.
Until then, I’ve got a new story for you up on YOUTUBE.
It’s a classic. FORT SMITH - JUDGED BY TWELVE.
Listen for free OR go grab your copy from the store and dive into the action packed atmosphere of frontier justice.
As the sun rose higher, casting its relentless heat over the Indian Territories, US Marshal Eldridge Sample continued his journey. The land around him was a harsh canvas of reds and browns, dotted with the occasional stubborn shrub clinging to life in the arid soil. The sky was an unyielding blue, not a cloud in sight to offer respite from the sun's gaze.
Sample's thoughts were as harsh as the landscape. He pondered the nature of men like Malloy, driven to a life outside the law, wondering what turned a man from the path of righteousness. He had seen too much of the world's cruelty to believe in simple answers.
As he rode, the terrain became increasingly treacherous. The ground under Roamer's hooves was uneven, strewn with loose stones and deep crevices hidden beneath deceptive layers of dust. Sample's eyes were vigilant, scanning for any sign of Malloy or the dangers the land itself posed.
The sound of a distant horse's whinny caught his attention. He dismounted, leading Roamer behind a cluster of rocks. Peering cautiously, he saw a figure in the distance, barely more than a shadow against the bright backdrop. Was it Malloy, or just another traveler braving the wilderness?
Sample decided to investigate. He moved stealthily, using the terrain to his advantage. As he drew closer, he realized it was a lone rider, not Malloy, but someone who might have information. He called out, "Hold there! I mean you no harm!"
The rider, a young man with a face too innocent for these lands, reined in his horse, eyeing Sample warily. "I'm just passing through, Marshal," the young rider said, noting Sample's badge.
"Seen anyone else on your travels? A man named Caleb Malloy, perhaps?" Sample asked, his voice as rough as the ground beneath them.
The young man nodded. "Saw a fella matching that description a day's ride from here. Headed towards the old mining town, looked like."
Sample thanked the young man and remounted Roamer. The old mining town was a ghost of its former self, abandoned after the gold rush dried up. It was the perfect place for a man like Malloy to hide.
The journey was long and arduous, with the sun beginning to dip below the horizon as Sample approached the desolate town. The buildings were decrepit, their wooden frames warped and weathered by time. It was a town that had given up hope long ago.
Sample's steps were cautious as he moved through the town, his hand resting on the butt of his revolver. The silence was oppressive, the only sound his boots stirring the dust that lay thick on the ground.
Then, a sound broke the stillness - the creak of a floorboard from one of the buildings. Sample tensed, his senses heightened. He approached the building slowly, every muscle in his body ready for action.
The door swung open abruptly, and a figure lunged at him. Sample reacted instinctively, grappling with his attacker. It was a brief, fierce struggle before Sample managed to pin the man down. It wasn't Malloy, but a drifter, wild-eyed and desperate.
"Why are you here?" Sample demanded, his voice like thunder.
"I heard there was gold left," the drifter gasped, fear in his eyes. "Didn't expect no lawman."
Sample released the man, a sense of disillusionment in his heart. This was what the pursuit of wealth did to men, turning them into ghosts haunting a dead town.
He left the drifter and continued his search, but Malloy was nowhere to be found. Night fell, and with it, a sense of unease settled over Sample. He made camp in the shadow of the town, the stars his only companions.
The next morning, Sample set out again, determined to find Malloy. The trail led him deeper into the wilderness, each mile taking him further from civilization and deeper into a land that seemed untouched by time.
As he rode, he reflected on his own journey. The law was a necessary force in a land as wild as this, but it came at a cost. The loneliness, the constant danger, the weight of every decision - it was a burden that he carried every day.
But Sample knew his duty, and he would see it through, no matter the cost. He was a US Marshal, a guardian of the law in a land where lawlessness was king. And as long as men like Malloy roamed free, he would ride, a lone sentinel in the wilderness, upholding justice in a land that often seemed to have forgotten its meaning.
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