Stories Of The Old West Novels & Stories

Rustler's Gap had sprung up in the mid-1860s, a quintessential gold and silver boomtown with all the trappings and misadventure that came with such a designation. For as long as she could remember, Anna had heard tales of starry-eyed miners searching for the mother lode, of gamblers and gunfighters who'd met their fates at the wrong end of a gun, of horse thieves and other criminals who'd met theirs at the end of a rope, and stories of ladies of the evening who'd offered a bit of solace for the right price.

Needless to say, he made any story including those that would normally be tagged as boring, sound like the most intriguing stories in the world. So, while everyone sat and fed on some freshly grilled meat mixed with vegetables, (which by the way, made Wilson feel insecure because it could easily attract any flesh eating beasts), the old man told stories after stories of the days back. Some were about his personal experiences and most were stories he had heard, true or untrue. "Do you know the full story behind this broken tar road?" The old man started after chewing on a large chunk of meat and drinking some water. Wine was intoxicating bad it was a terrible idea to drink in the wild. It was

“Deadly snakes, poisonous plants, water that’s not safe to drink, raging rivers, and worst of all, native rogues.” When he says those last two words, Ginny’s forehead crinkles, and she turns to look at him. “Native rogues?” she repeats in her thick accent. “I don’t know how to say it.” “Wolves that have lived in these parts for thousands of years,” Sanders tells her. “They still think those lands out west are theirs, even though the humans are tellin’ ‘em otherwise.”

Feeling lonely and sad. The Creek Star Pack was known for his strength and strong warriors; a part of it they were also recognize for the beauty of their pack which was not just covered by the trees instead on their north side it was the series of mountains that had snow covered on the top of their peaks hence making the pack one of the coolest and mesmerizing.

Words really could make an impact apparently. “Hand me ‘nother, Cody,” Silas drunkenly slurred, moving his hand quickly enough that the piss colored liquid swirled up and over the edge only to land onto the wooden floor boards of some run down saloon, but no one said anything to the new group of strangers who had just arrived last night and had already killed three people. The sheriff, a pastor, and some nameless nobody. Cassidy held back her eye roll and bit her quick tongue, forcing a sweet smile onto her redden lips, and quickly retrieved another beer for Silas, his companions didn’t even look towards the Viper besides Silas’ right hand man Bill - each one scummy as the other.

Why did I survive when everyone else died? The questions had no answers. He had learned to live with them, but they never stopped asking. He had drifted westward over the years, drawn by rumors and half-forgotten legends. There was a pack in the west, the stories said, led by a wolf with fur like moonlight and eyes like stars. A Hidden Luna, the stories called her. A wolf who carried the light of the old world. Ronan didn't believe in legends. But he had nowhere else to go.