Creative Writing ....Encounter with policeman

First draft!  February 3

The tall man sat comfortably astride the big bay stallion as they picked their way through the desert sagebrush.  They had been this way before and both were getting thirsty.  In the distance, a wisp of smoke gave evidence of some activity so, responding to a bit of urging, the horse broke into a gallop as they traveled west.

                Silver Springs was certainly nothing like its name.  The gray dilapidated buildings along the main street flanked square adobe houses or shops.  Dust was everywhere and there wasn’t a sign of a rippling brook or a sparkling spring to be seen.  Slim saw a sign for a livery barn.  “Let’s get you some water and a little feed, Archie,” he said to his horse.  “Maybe we can find a little shade for you.”

               As he drew closer to the barn, a slight young man came rushing out.  “Hey  there!  Nice horse! Can we help you?”  Slim looked at him closely; the young man seemed pretty young. 

                “Do you think you can handle Archie here?  He’s in need of a drink and a cooling off place.”

                “Sure thing!”  He murmured something to the horse as Slim dismounted.  “We’ll be ok. There’s Margie’s place across the street if you want to get something to drink yourself!”

                “Just what I wanted,” Slim replied.  “I’ll be back shortly.”   He ambled across the hard packed dirt with a rolling cowboy gait and headed into the building where there seemed to be the most action.  An old, skinny man was pounding away on an even older, battered piano; he was chomping on a cigar in time to the music he was playing.  Some tired looking men sat hunched around a scarred wooden table, moving around some cards and poker chips as they began another game.  Another group of dusty cowboys were sitting by a table, enjoying their mugs of beer, vying for the company of a striking redhead who seemed to be grinning at each one.

                “What’ll it be, mister?” the bartender hollered above the noise.

                “Something cold and wet!  I’ll have a beer, I guess.” Slim could almost taste that brew as he reached into his jeans pocket for a silver dollar.  Placing it on the counter, he reached for the glass as he heard shouting and the scraping of chairs being moved.  He turned around and saw two of the poker players advancing on one another, ready for a fight.  “You cheated!” one of them said.

                Slim knew nothing good was coming out of this.  Turning swiftly, he grabbed one of the noisemakers around the neck with this left arm.  The guy struggled feebly, but knew his assailant was at least a foot taller and much heavier than he was.  Slim took a long step toward the other loudmouth and grabbed his bandana that had been hanging loosely around the neck; he gave it a jerk and the guy got quiet.  “Sit down and let a fellow have a drink in peace!  If you don’t like the cards, try this deck and start over!” Slim let go of the men, pulled out a deck of cards from his back pocket and tossed them on the table. 

                He turned back to his drink and a tall man, dressed in black walked toward him.  “Thanks, Mister.  That was mighty good of you to stop that ruckus before it went farther.”  Slim saw the man’s large star glinting in the light.  “How would you like a job?  The name’s Dillon.  Marshal Matt Dillon.”

Creative Writing .... Historical figure

           Hunched down in a ragged circle around the fire, the men in their fur coats and leather mitts listened intently to the big, hairy man who was talking loudly, hands flying in the air.  It was cold and damp in the little village in Greenland as the winds from the Labrador Sea whipped across the shore– so the heat from the dry birch logs and willow branches felt good.

           “Throw another armful of that dry moss on the fire, Ragnar!”  Halvor shouted.

           “Aw, let Leif do it.”

           Leif got up from his seat on a flat rock that had finally warmed up enough to be comfortable. He quickly walked over to the pile of moss, grabbed it in arms and hurried back to throw it on the fire.  He didn’t want to miss a thing that Bjarni Herjolfson was saying.

`           “The wind,” Bjarni said, “it was terrible!  It came out of the north and we rowed as hard as we could.  But it didn’t help.  Olav could just barely see the coast here.  The wind just kept roaring and shoving us along into the open sea !”

           “Couldn’t you turn around?” Halvor asked.

           “No. Not then.  We kept going.  We looked and looked for land but it took many days and nights.  Then we saw it.  Huge boulders on the shores!  We got the boat as close as we could without crashing into rocks so we jumped out and towed it to a safe place.”  Bjarni paused for breath and looked around at the men and boys who were hanging on to his every word.  “We were so cold and wet.  And tired.   And hungry.  We were so thirsty that when we saw grass along the shore that looked wet, we sucked the dew from it!  Johann and Per brought the salted meat with them from the boat.  They couldn’t get at it while we were on the rough water.   Rigmor had wrapped the hardtack in oiled skins so there was some of that, too.”

           “Any wild animals?” Leif was curious.

           “Oh yeah.  Big animals with horns… bigger than the deer in Iceland and Norway.   I got away from a big bear!  And we saw another bear in the water, looking for fish!  He got ‘em, too!”

           “So how did the land look?  Was it barren?” someone called out.

           “Well, I tell you.  It was green.  More green than here at home.  Bushes everywhere!  And then there was trees!  Tall, big trees.  You could  cut them down and make many logs for houses or sheds.  Nothing like these little birch trees around here.  Oh, it was a beautiful land.”

           As he grew up, Leif thought about that conversation often.  He took the fishing boats out many times in the years that followed.  Going across the sea to Iceland to see his father’s family was a trip he made with relative ease in the 42 foot long boat with his family. He learned to tell his position on the water by use of a sextant and the stars.  With the help of his mother, Leif dried meat and fish.  By the time he was 25, Leif Ericsson had planned and organized an expedition to the south.  He had to see this New World for himself.