The History of writing: Arizona Blue—Gunfighter

The History of writing: Arizona Blue—Gunfighter

( I think the original idea for the stories of Arizona Blue, were invented in my mind, back when I was perhaps ten or eleven years old, those far off dreams come back do them not.)

The Arizona Blue stories: first imagined, and were written down in 1990, was but two stories, and put into a stack of papers in the basement of my house in Minnesota, and forgotten for the most part (today, May, 2007, there are now 31-stories, and on 226—internet sites, and three of the 31, are in a book called, “Everyday’s an Adventure,” and perhaps someday all will be put into a book, should I find someone willing to publish them).
The first story was suppose to be the last story 1) “Lady in White,” (six chapters) being the first of the two, although if I recall right, in 2001, and 2002, I reconstructed it a little. And the second one was 2) “Wild Flower,” which was not it’s originally name; it was really part of the first and original story. Then I wrote the third in 2001, and completed it in 2002 called “Deadwood,” (after I went to Deadwood) I added as a subtitle 3) “The Mexican Stand off (Deadwood)” and in July 2005 (was created in episodes, but made in chapters: for example: ´Showdown on Main Street,’ and ‘The Barber Shop’ and ‘Chickamauga’ and ‘The Rooming House.’ Thus, we have five episodes individually published but later on sewed together) I added to the five part story, about 2500-more words, making the four parts more of a five part short story, connecting to one another, instead of one interconnecting long story, which it is in essence, if one wishes it to be. So Episode four could really be #8.
In the third story, originally called “Deadwood,” which later on became part of the full title “The Mexican Stand off (Deadwood)” a story of Chickamauga was added to the narrative. The rock of Chickamauga was put in after review of the battle. The author me, during my Army stay in Germany, prior to going to the war in Vietnam, in 1970-71, I was stationed at a military base, called Reese Compound, in Augsburg, Germany 1/36 Artillery, where there was a huge rock their with the inscription, “In Memory of the Battle of Chickamauga.” This I never forgot some how, and so out of respect and memory I added it to his story, or series as it has now turned out to be.
I spent 11-years in the military service. In the first part of August 2002, when I was editing the three stories for the book “Everyday’s An Adventure,” of which many of my short stories were put into the book, my wife Rosa of three-years, at the time, liked the stories so much, I wrote a forth story, called 4) “Arizona-Blue, and The Wolf Nest (in the North)”. I completed it except for the conclusion, which it was already designed to be a two part story; but felt later on it was not necessary, and entered a short summation to the story.
Thus, it was revised, and is as you see it now; it surfaced August of 2005, and became very popular on the internet.
I did start to write another Arizona-Blue story, my fifth, called 5) “Another Town,” in 2001, but it was just an outline and until this day, has never surfaced beyond that; in July of 2005, I did revised it and added about 300-words to it, it was meant to be a chapter within a story, or an Advance for a story.
Consequently, all the stories are new for the most part, with the same themes or topic, and plot, but perhaps, better motifs [or designs].
July, 2005, I added the sixth story to the ongoing series 6) “Crazy Sam,” and in August, 2005 (which I wrote on a napkin and can’t find), added number seven, 7) “A Rough Year—1844” which was really an extension of “Another Town,” and “Crazy Sam,” an extension of “The Mexican Stand-off” 8) Purple, Gray Skies (1844—Flagstaff, Arizona) 8/2005; 9) In the Wagon (1844) 8/15/05; 10) Abilene-Loreto (Arizona-Blue, 1887) written 9/15/05 and 11) A Fools Draw (1870s) Written 11/29/05. 12) “At the Red Dog,” was rediscovered 1 December, 2005, the idea was planned out on the computer 1/2005 (after visiting the Red Dog Saloon, in Juneau Alaska, where the Idea came from), but never fully constructed; when discovered in my files #2 out of #9 files where at that time I kept some of my stories I put it on the internet. Number #13 “One Horse and Six Men,” was written on 12-12-2005, spontaneously, as most of these stories were written, especially the later ones (2001-2007).
In 2006, I wrote several more Arizona Blue stories, such as (#23) “Rawhide and Whale Bone,” written on: 6-2-2006. “Roofless Hades, in Mexico”; Episodes number #24 & #25, (written on: 6-24-2006)


and up to May of 2007, I wrote four more short stories ¨#27 thru #31, all interconnecting (linking that is) with the theme and plot constructed in number #27, “Death Along the Canyon’s Rim!”

Most all the places, locations I’ve mentioned in these 31-stoires I’ve visited, such as Deadwood, and the boarder towns, Cheyenne, Minnesota. The only one I can think of I have not been to would be El Paso.


By the author, Dennis L. Siluk May 11, 2007

Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in: Maggie O’Brian’s Quest (Episode #31)

Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in: Maggie O’Brian’s Quest (Episode #31)


Arizona Blue was on his bed half asleep, when someone knocked at the door of his hotel room, it was May of 1877, a year since he had been down around the rim of the Grand Canyon. He was in El Pasco. He reached for his holster, and started to pull out his gun. Who it could be, he wondered, who knew he was here, no one to his understanding. He knew Tom Brady, the Sheriff, he would not be knocking, or Doc Fremont he was an old friend, taken a few bullets out of his back, legs and chest in years past, he wasn’t him, he was always coughing. It wouldn’t' be that sheriff either, the one from Falstaff, Arizona; he didn’t have the guts to try to bring him back for an inquest. He shook his head; he felt a bit washed up, empty from the drinking and card games the night before, a bottle of whisky by his bedside, half full.
The knock came again.
“Who’s there?” Blue called, thinking no one with any sense perhaps, because if they knew him, they were putting their lives on a hot iron.
“Sure glad I found you,” said Maggie, as she opened the door, saw Blue on the bed. “You took a long chance coming back to save me, and tell me about my husband being dead, I saw the grave you dug for him, when the Indians captured me they showed me. You are a very brave man, I wish I would have taken your advice but I just couldn’t at the time.”
Then abruptly, and curious, Blue sat up along side of her on his bed, she stood meekly close to him, and he said “I don’t see how you could have gotten away from the Indians…?”
Maggie shrugged from her stillness, resenting her captivity, and somewhat embarrassed by standing next to Blue, yet gratitude were on her face. It seemingly was to her kind of a kindred sharing moment, and meeting, and Blue not quite understanding the why of it all.
“I was looking for you for two months.” She stated. “I was always thinking you were going to hightail it back to find me, but you didn’t.” Blue was a tinge embarrassed, “Since the last time we met, it looks like you have been busy,” she said with an odd flat voice, almost annoyingly.
Blue smiled, she sat down on the side of the bed by him. “I don’t really have anybody, I mean, when they captured me, I got pregnant, and they didn’t want me to take care of the child, so they left me at my husband’s gravesite to die: they wanted my boy to be raised by them, to be a warrior. All of a sudden I was in the way. Then a camper came by, a hunter of sorts, smelly he was, and took me for his mate, until I got away from him, and heard you were in Texas. It was odd how the memory of you came to mind, a devil man like you, a hunter and killer of men.”
Blue buckled on his gun belt and stood up, she was still pretty and slim and eye catching he thought.
“I didn’t know were to go, and life could be lonely, you know, a lonely thing, and I knew you could protect me, and perhaps you would like some companionship?”
Blue looked out his window, the sheriff was going down his steps, Sheriff Tom Brady walking onto the road, talking to a few passerby’s; Blue he picked up the quart bottle of whisky, took a swig, looked at Maggie, she sure was cute, and he knew she had her pound of bad luck, there was a tense tone to her face and voice now, one he didn’t recognized before, one you acquire from hard times.
“Come with me Maggie, let’s have breakfast.” She smiled, figured it was all right now, as Blue was utterly astonished, in disbelief of what had just taken place. As they crossed the street Blue bumped into Sheriff Tom Brady, “Come along Sheriff, join me and my sister for breakfast.”
Maggie looked at Blue strangely, as Tom Brady said, “Did you say sister?” Blue nodded his head—yes. Tom was perhaps 35-years old, but a good man, and tough, Maggie, perhaps 23 or 26, but it seemed to Blue, a good fit, Blue was in his 40s.
As they sat and ate, Blue looked at both Tom and Maggie, it seemed to Blue it was inevitable they would like one another, he was similar to Blue, but just not as dangerous, more stable you could say, and younger.
After breakfast Blue told Tom, in his ear, when Maggie went to the powder room, “What you waiting for?”
“Right now!” said Tom, “I don’t even know her.”
“Listen, I brought her all the way down here from St. Paul, Minnesota to marry you.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the gunfighter. This was really the most unexpected words Blue had ever said, and he was wholly confused when he said them, but he said them nonetheless spontaneously. When Maggie rejoined him, Blue got up walked outside, and Maggie was about to follow, when Tom grabbed her hand, “Your brother said he invited you down from Minnesota to meet me, now seeing you, perhaps we can…(he hesitated),” Blue came back in the café, patted Maggie on the shoulder, “Sis, he wants to marry you; he’s a good man, and tough, he knows the west, and no one fools around with him, you’ll be safe with him, and he has a little house at the end of the street, but I can’t force you to take him, it’s up to you, think about it.” Now she was taken off guard, as she had done to Blue.
They both ended up smiling and just looking at one another, Tom to Maggie, and Maggie to Tom. “I think Tom, she’s got you,” said Blue, laughingly with a smile. Her lips were moist, sweet and they both knew there’d be no more chances like this one, ever.

Note: Episodes #27 thru #31 are interlinked. #31, written: 5-11-2007

Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in: Last Card Game in Falstaff (Episode #30)

Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in: Last Card Game in Falstaff (Episode #30)

(Arizona Blue, over 226-Internet sits have picked up on these Episodes, this being the 30th)

Arizona Blue was always proud of his skill in shooting, and not timid to display it. He always looked a bit ready, or like a man preparing for target practice. It was July, of 1876, when Blue was in Falstaff (had been there going on five weeks or so), Ernie Hard, a gun-slinger out of Abilene was in town, Arizona knew of him, a young buck, not too young, was playing cards at the Do-drop-Inn. He was a tall man, with large teeth, buck teeth, and red hair, he had itchy-fingers, so his legend goes, which precede him, eager to kill, and he always muttered, so no one could tell what he was saying, somehow that seemed to put his opponent off guard.
“Go to hell,” said Tom Doyle, a local farmer, and one of the five card players at the table, in the bar, he was speaking to Ernie Hard; Ernie had told him he had won without showing his cards.
“Put down the cards,” said Tom “I want to see them!”.
“Do what you can, or shout up…!” ordered Hard, and he started to take the money from the pot in the middle of the table, no one said a word, and Tom started to turn frigid in his face.
Tom pulled out a forty-five with a cut-off barrel, tucked deep into the side of his belt; it was hidden by his jacket. Ernie, eying the farmer boy, saw his snub-nosed muzzle, which meant he had to be in front of him to shoot it with any accuracy, thus, he smiled and held his breath, then muttered a tinge, the next moment (seemingly a gap in time) the sound of loud gun against a moment of silence came abruptly, and the guy next to Tom spat tobacco onto the floor as if in shock,Tom fell backward, dead, and surprisingly, Ernie fell flat onto the table, the discharge of Tom’s gun had shot through his shoulder.
Said the barkeep running up to Tom “What in hell did you do that for?” Of course he could not speak, he was dead. At that very moment, Arizona Blue turned about, he was watching everything from the bar mirror, for once he wanted to stay out of harms way, but he was cursed, as many folks had told him in the past, wherever he went, seemingly he could not avoid trouble.
He walked over to the table, $400.00 was in the kitty, Ernie knew of Blue, his reputation anyhow, saw him shoot a few times, and he was perhaps 15-years younger than Blue. Blue looked at Ernie, plainly, then chuckled, as Ernie went to take the money, but Blue pushed them back—Ernie’s hands back, looked at his cards, he had two kings, one pair that was all, then he looked at Tom’s, three jacks…”You lose,” said Blue.
“Wait until my shoulder’s better, we’re going to have a shootout.” Said Ernie; but that was not a good thing to say, evidently he did not pay all that much attention to his reputation.
“You’d never guess, sunny boy, but the shootout is going to be now.”
“But I can’t,” said Ernie, his face transforming into grief and dread.
“Then I’ll shoot you dead right here, or get on you knees and beg for your life!” The entire bar was watching.
The bartender nodded to the table of card players to move, and they did.
Blue knew the game, if he let him live, he’d just follow him, so he put Ernie in a cowards position, and to his surprise, he got on his hands and knees and begged for his life. Then Blue turned around, got thinking: there’d never be a better chance than now, he waited a moment, hoping Ernie would go for his gun, and then Blue threw down his second pistil in front of Ernie, “Sorry, but one of us will have to die this evening!” Said Blue.
It seemed hopeless to Ernie, but he knew that was the deal, and therefore, he leaped for the gun, and clutching it grimly he shot off one round, Blue simply dodged back, then fired his gun, that was it. He knew he’d be clumsy, and let him take the first shot, that way; there’d be no question of who was in the right.

The fight was over, Blue shrugged. There was only one thing to do now, leave the city, it was futile to try to explain to the law every detail, the folks saw it all, it would all come out in the wash, he knew, thus he swung his jacket over his shoulder, finished his drink, and bid the barkeep farewell.
Out of the bar he jumped on his horse, Dan, then shouted, “Give the money to his wife!” then out of the city he rode, in kind of a zigzagged galloped, he was a bit drunk, but happily drunk.

5-20-2007

Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in: Maggie O’Brian, Compromised Episode #29

Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in:
Maggie O’Brian, Compromised
Episode #29


Blue was resting, lying, elbows down, motionless, undisturbed, examining his thoughts (on the bar), bruised knuckles from the fight he had a few weeks ago along the rim of the Grand Canyon. Just a few trifle thoughts, is all, his whole body was aware of the endurance it had taken, soreness throughout his whole body, he was getting old, he told himself. Maggie O’Brian came to mind, the gal that he met at the log cabin, along the rim of the canyon, her husband had died, and she was taken captive by the Indians, he could not sleep peacefully because of that, because he was questioning his actions, his motives. He had confused dreaming, and he questioned his mind, his cerebellum you could say, I suppose it did its trick, it maintained balance and muscular alertness. (It was now June of 1976.)
It occurred to Blue, that this impetuous girl named Maggie, had compromised herself in more ways than one by staying in a cabin on the rim of the canyon after the odds of her husband being alive was ten to one. He told her to leave, but she wouldn’t hear of it. He could have played the angle of mercy and tried to get her back, but it was too dangerous, again the odds were one in ten, and he was a gunfighter, not a mercenary.
He was contemplating her face now, relaxed at a bar in Flagstaff. She was prompted by strong impulses, he told his second self, you know, the one we all talk to, and the one that tells us our desires of a woman, wanting a woman, he had really never felt an itch for a woman as he did this one, hell, he kind of was hoping he’d find her husband dead, that is why he returned, thinking he could perhaps comfort her, and then, who knows what. Well, this is what was going on in his mind.
“You sure you want another drink?” asked the barkeeper, knowing Blue got mean when he drank too much, or was in a depressive mood. “How do you feel?” he asked, smiling.
Jake Cody, wound the clock, and gave Blue another beer with a shot of whiskey, squint-eyes, watching Blue in case he gave a sign of craziness, and he’d simply duck; he noticed Blue’s ungentle fingers rubbing his gun, he did that when he was thinking, unfocused; simply as it may be, it reminded him, he was unfocused, a life saving tick you might say, he picked up along the way.
“Oh, I should have, should have?” question Blue to himself.
“Should have what?” asked the barkeep.
Angelina sat down abruptly by Blue, yawned a bit, it was close to midnight, “Honey, we can if you want?” said the young prostitute. She was pretty thought Blue, but her sleep-swollen eyes were defacing, and his mind was too busy thinking, and his thirst was too intoxicating to make love, so he smiled and said nothing, but ordered a drink for her nonetheless.
In a clap of an eye, Blue shot out the lamp near the bar, the several folks in the bar jumped up, then trying to move away from his blind spots they stood stone still against the wall, puzzlement filled the bar, it was quiet, why did he do what he did (thought the wall folks), but no one cared or dared to ask. Blue shook his head, Angelina still sitting next to him, “I never saw one like you,” she told Blue. He looked at her, she must had been less than 20-years old, he told himself, but there was something in her eyes that reminded him of Maggie, a proper looking girl (but this one was a prowler).
“Sure,” he said in a mild tone, “let’s go up to my stall, I mean room honey, and do it, it’s number #13, I like that number, it follows me around.”


Note: This can be considered the third part to the story of “Death along the Canyon’s Rim,” but to be honest, it simply was not written with that excuse in mind, so I have not categorized it that way. It was meant to be a story of its own, simple as it is about Arizona Blue, reflecting, as often we all do, and question our motives and actions.

Written at home, 5-9-2007, 11:39 PM

Arizona Blue--Gunfigher, in--"Death along the Canyon's Rim" (Parts one and two)) Episdoes: #27 & #28))

Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in—

“Death along the Canyon’s Rim!”
(Part one of two: episode #27)



“Trouble along the Grand Canyon”


The Authors first story of Arizona Blue in over eleven-months


The burning Arizona sky by the Grand Canyon, horse-smelling sky held a passive look for Arizona Blue, gunfighter (1876); wrapped in a grew Army shroud riding his horse Dan, thinking of a fresh-baked pie, any kind would do, his saddle loose. His mother Teresa disliked having him ride at night, so he remembered, as he rode this noon dust, and sun into evening, she was purely pound of him when he was a boy. And he heard her once say to his cousin, “Blue just never got a chance like you boys did, and he and I aren’t beholden to no one, like you boys are…” he remembered how she stood up like a fighter for him, like he was or turned out to be, but she died, and now it was July, and he was remembering, in the desert heat, that was turning cold as twilight was turning into night, night, but it was a peaceable night for once, but it never stayed that way for him, he was always guarded, life had taught him so, experience you could say, too many falls, and each one had a lesson for him, one he never forgot; and so he keep up with the evening stars, “Hold your tongue Dan (he always talked to his horse).” Arizona knew Dan was getting tired, but he was all mixed up, he always got mixed up in July, his mind never seemed to focus, perhaps thinking of his mother; it was the month she died in, 1873.

There was light in the far-off cabin, and now he observed a woman walking back and forth, vague shape, a few horses outside the cabin, and the woman was pushing a man away, the other two men were standing outside in the yard, watching through the window.
“Pull her down Charlie!” said one of the men. The other got closer to the window to watch, that is when Blue knew they were unwelcome trouble makers—and then he heard a chair break, and the man in the cabin grabbed the girl, and down she went, and the fence right next to the house, old Dan jumped it, and startling the two men, Arizona struck them with the butt of his rifle, and the impact of the physical blow, dropped them both, and right thou the door, swiftly Dan charged, and the man now on top of a young woman, a child in a crib next to the table, , , easing his horse back into a standstill, Blue dropped his rifle, and pulled his six shooter out, and shot the man three times in the legs, disabled him before he could take flight or fight, crippled him for life most likely, he would never forget this day for sure, and that is how Arizona Blue fought: give them something to remember before they think about doing whatever they were doing again: the woman couldn’t ignore his quick and abruptness (but she was safe, and she gave Blue an exhausted smile). Blue said in a calm voice, to the blond haired young woman, with her blouse torn, and scuffed up knees, “I would have preferred a different way in, but…” and he said no more.
“I’ll get these men on their horses, or bury them alive (the man he shot looked in shock), and if you don’t mind, I’ll have a nice quiet dinner with you, and leave tomorrow morning, I’ll sleep wherever you wish.” (Blue was a man, not a thief, or a person that would take what did not belong to him, that included women, he was taught that is not what a man does).
Dismounting, Blue placed his hands on the man, dragged him outside, and told his friends, whom were now waking up, to take him along with them, or face his guns, and gave them three minutes, no more. And they all left like wild and wing flopping hens.

Written 5-9-2007, 2:21 AM (Lima, Peru)




Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in—
“Death along the Canyon’s Rim!”
(Part two of two: episode: #28)

“Gunfighter’s Advise”


In the morning, Blue had circled the cabin, noticed it was next to the rim of the Grand Canyon, and that Maggie O’Brian, from Minneapolis, Minnesota, had come down to the Canyon, on kind of an experiment trip (so she had told Blue), her husband was a geologist, a professor, young as he was from the University of Minnesota, and was studying the rocks and formation of the strata within the canyon walls. They had been married just two years, with a new born, but three weeks old.
Maggie watched Blue as he eased cautiously around the cabin, looking for snakes, and perhaps one or two Indians, and /or those cowpokes, that had halfway raped her the night before.
But what he really wondered was, her husband had been gone going on two weeks now—and as he had told Maggie over breakfast, “I hate to say, but most likely your husband is dead, especially if he’s always come home within a few days, you can’t stay out here all alone,” said Blue.

Now they were standing at the edge of the canyon, both looking down its north rim.
“You were lucky last night,” said Blue, “These men would have taken you along for sport, had I not shown up, and used you until they were tired of you, and left you for the Indians when they had no more use for you.”
With a conflicting impelling voice, Maggie O’Brian conferred, “I’m most grateful for your coming at such a needed moment, but I can’t just leave him, and expect he will follow us, he is no tracker, or hunter per se, we’ve lived here going on six months, and he has done some hunting, but as you can see not much, but I have enough food for a few more weeks, until he comes back, I can’t go, no I won’t.”
Blue a tinge astonished saw no hope for her, with his left hand, he rested it on her small shoulder, wiped the dust from his forehead with his right, “Ok, Mrs. O’Brian, but I got to go, if I see him along the rim… (he hesitated, then finished by saying) I’ll ride that way a few days, as you mentioned, perhaps he is doing some of those experiments, looking for rocks and all, but I may not have the time to get on back here if he is…you know, as I expect he is, dead.”
Wide-eyed she was, almost in wonderment, Blue thought, he was a fighting man—a real, go to hell part of trouble for anybody to handle, and could be brutal, but never with a woman, or weaker individual, he’d just walk away, with his broad-jawed face. But today it was hard to walk away from this pretty little housewife, that wished to stay, happily stay, he knew she was going down, should he leave, that her husband was dead somewhere along the rim.

As he had come, so abruptly he left, the stone faced rider, waved his hand at Maggie, and bellowed, “Take care.” And rode off, spit out some tobacco juice, “let’s go Dan…” he commanded and slowly they left, his hands gripped his Winchester.
It was on the second day of riding along the rim, he had noticed scattered items, cloths, etc., here and there, then a body laid in front of him, it was Maggie’s husband, it fit his description, he lay along the rim, his head on a rock, and snake bites in and on and all over his body, a nest of rattlers nearby, and his horse, lay several feet away, also dead. He conjured, that the horse must had got bit, threw him, and when he landed perhaps the rock killed him instantly, if not the snakes did the job.
“That’s how it happens out here,” he told Dan, and dug a grave right there.
“Come on, come on Dan! We got to get back to the lady before the Indians do, or someone one else.” After that, for a time Blue never said a word to Dan, and his horse knew there was trouble in the air. He rode fast and rigidly braced himself against the saddle, even kicked Dan, which he normally did not do.
He got back in 18-hours, it was briskly hot, he noticed coming in from the side, the kitchen window open, and instinctively he knew something was wrong. There was a discarded rifle in the yard, “We’ve got to get to her Dan,” Blue said, hoping it was those three men that took her and not a group of Indians.
As he rode further on, he saw ahead of him several Indians, he kept his distance, and he was dizzy from the lack of food, the heat, the long ride, as was Dan, whom was almost ready to drop. Pain–racked his brain when he saw them wrap her up in rope, they had just had there fun with her (what ever fun that was, for they were laughing), her cloths in fragments; now she was thrown over the back of a horse like a sack of potatoes. Twenty of them, she glanced back, the Indians didn’t notice Blue they were two busy laughing and drinking and looking at her, he was some three hundred yards behind them by a towering rock, he was but a shadow between the sun and the wind, but she knew who he was, and she new she was doomed, she understood he could not do anything, and perhaps she didn’t care, for there was only one shadow she saw, not two, and her baby was dead.
Pain slashed his side, like sharp claws, there was no clarity to his mind, should the Indians see him, neither his horse nor he could out run them, escape, they were awfully tired.

Written 5-9-2007 (11:57 AM)