UPSHUR’S WAY
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“Well, Ben, . . . th’ Marshal and me went through a lot bringin’ you in, . . . all that wasted time, and effort tryin’ to keep Mister McCreedy there from catchin’ up to us . . . . Th’ loss of sleep, goin’ hungry! . . . And then to have you slip away like a thief in th’ dark! . . . It all comes down to this! . . . You stole something from th’ Marshal and me, what, I don’t exactly know, or maybe I just don’t know how to put it in words, whatever! . . . I do know that you all were laughing at us, because you put one over on us, or thought you had . . . . But, to sum it up, you took somethin’ of ours, . . . and one a my rules is, that nobody does that. I won’t allow it! . . . Grab your hat-brim, Ben.” “You told Rodney, you could beat me with a gun, Ben.” He looked at McCreedy then. “You, sir, tried to murder my friend, like a coward would, from a safe distance.” He shook his head. “You’ll have to pay for that! . . . And you, Mister Ellis, are just guilty by association . . . . I have no idea where your Indian friend is, and I know you won’t tell me, so, . . . I’ll have to attend to him later.” He holstered his pistol then, and dropped his hand at his side. “Money’s on th’ porch, gents . . . . It’s all yours, if you can keep it! All three of them went for their guns at once, and the stillness erupted in thunderous gunfire, as Billy drew and fired. Childers had only cleared the holster when his gun arm was shattered, knocking him to his back in the dirt. McCreedy’s gun was coming up when Billy’s bullet struck his shoulder, causing the gun to fly from his hand as he also was thrown backward’
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About the Book
Escorting three escaped convicts back to Fort Smith, Arkansas, to hang should be an easy enough task even from Shreveport, Louisiana. Boring and long, but easy . . . and Marshal Rodney Taylor was saddled with the job. Having seen the prison at Fort Smith, he knew that escape was not possible without help and related that belief to Upshur, who then volunteered to go with him. They were right! From the moment they left Shreveport with the prisoners, they were followed by the same men who had abetted their escape from prison . . . and they had plans to do it again! Only this time, they would have to kill a U, S. Marshal, and Bill Upshur to free them, and were relentless in their pursuit. Upshur would pit his skills against an ex-military sniper in the Union Army, a man, with the mind of a genius when it came to tactical planning, and procedures. A man with medals to prove it! Only this time, for the first time, frustration had entered his mind, making him unsure of his movements….And he would need to accomplish the task at hand to renew his own self confidence! But Upshur was determined not to allow Rodney to fail his last mission as Marshal, as he has planned to resign his post on arrival at Fort Smith. He would somehow see that he succeeded, and returned home to his family alive and well. Why would he do this, when so many others would not? Because he is Upshur, and it’s his way!
About the Author
I have been an illustrator and artist most of my life. I have read Western novels for most of my younger years, but to me, they did not seem to depict the way it actually had to have been back then. I wanted to write novels the way I believe it had to have been; it was not a romantic ride into the sunset with your true love. Life was hard, brutal, and full of fear. The only thing that has not changed is the love of family and friends, and the desire for justice. That is the character of Upshur, a gunfighter, family man, a man with roots. He is a man that fears for his life when forced to fight, but fights with abandon when family and friends are threatened. Of course, the bad guys are the same then as now—maybe worse now than then. I am seventy-five years old, a retired salesman and security guard. I have been writing and drawing pictures of the old West for many years. My hair is gray, and my gun hand slow, except in my books. Hope you like them; I liked doing them the way it was—not a Gene Autry Western. Thanks, Otis Morphew