Kindle Edition
Written by Scott Cherney
Category:
Humor
Publisher: Miscreant
Type: Fiction
Pages: 146
Copyright: December 16, 2013
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
A singing cowboy returns home to find the town in the grip of a tyarnnical hanging judge and the love of his life about to marry his sworn enemy
Be it ever so hostile...there's no place like home!
A straight-shooting, guitar-strumming cowboy known as The Canyon Kid returns to Dirt Clod, Missouri only to learn that the town's in ruins, a hanging judge wants to add him to his resume and his gal's about to marry a known desperado called The Bushwhacker. Complicating matters even further for The Kid are the devious brother and sister team of Nastassia Kinky and Two Gun Boris, the fastest gun this side of the Ukraine.
How's The Canyon Kid going to save the day, let alone croon a few tunes, with a noose around his neck?
Adapted from the author's hit play Song of the Lone Prairie or Poem on the Range
Excerpt
Once she spoke, The Canyon Kid recognized his old childhood friend. This curious blacksmith was none other than Charlene Atlas. She used to be the neighborhood bully until she tussled with a young Canyon Kid. He had been walking home from school when Charlene, full size at the age of ten, popped out of the bushes and gave him a big bear hug until he passed out. When he fell to the ground, Charlene sat on his chest and began to thump his forehead with her meaty index finger. She told him she would stop if he cried for his mama. He told her he couldn’t do that because he lost his mama. Hearing that, Charlene stopped thumping and began crying instead. She felt so sorry for the poor boy, she picked him up off the ground and began to hug him again, this time in a more nurturing, yet no less intense manner. Charlene swore she’d never bully anyone ever again.
The Kid smiled at the memory and found that he wanted to get her attention without drawing any additional attention from anyone else. He whispered to her from the tree.
“Psst!”
Charlene froze at the sound.
“What wuz that?”
The Kid tried again.
“ Psst!”
“Uh oh…a snake…”
“Psst…Hey!”
“A talkin’ snake…”
“Psst…Hey, Charlene!”
“A talkin’ snake that knows my name…”
The Canyon Kid sighed. He suddenly recalled how bright Charlene wasn’t. She used to believe that every time the sun went down, she was going blind.
“Turn around, Charlene.”
Moving about suspiciously, Charlene turned to face The Canyon Kid.
“Hey, you ain’t no snake. Yer too tall. Who might you be, stranger?”
The Kid grinned at her.
“Don’t you recognize me?”
Charlene gave him a long once-over. Then a broad, gap-toothed smile exploded across her wide face.
“Well, I’ll be dipped in guacamole! It’s Gene Autry!”
“No.”
“Roy Rogers?”
“Uh-uh.”
After feasting her eyes on that elaborately embroidered and fringed shirt of his, she ventured one more guess.
“You one’a them Village People?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” The Kid said maintaining his wearing patience. “We were young ‘uns together.”
Baffled, Charlene scrutinized the face of this cowpoke with the frilly baby blue shirt. He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him. It couldn’t be her pa. This critter was too young and her pa was too dead. Somehow, a name appeared out of the fogbank that was Charlene’s mind and rushed through her like a steam train.
“Shut my mouth an’ call me a clam! It’s Seymour!”
That name hit The Kid literally right where he lived. He hadn’t heard it since he rode out of Dirt Clod and never wanted to hear it again. He could only hope she couldn’t recall his full name. As he pondered that thought, Charlene hugged him like the long-lost
brother she never had but always wanted.
“Yeah. It’s me alright. Charlene, you’re bending my guitar.”
She released her grip.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s alright. I should tell you that I don’t go by that name anymore. Now I’m known as…The Canyon Kid.”
He strummed his guitar twice for effect. Since there was someone to hear it, this time it worked. Charlene’s eyes popped out of her head like a bullfrog in fly heaven.
“Canyon Kid? Canyon Kid? Did you say Canyon Kid?”
“It sounds like something I’d say,” he said.
“Well, what do you know about that? The Canyon Kid is my hero…an’ he’s you! I gotta hug ya agin.”
And she did.
“Charlene! Guitar!”
“Oh. Sorry. The Canyon Kid… What do know about that? I done read all yer darin’ exploits in each an’ ev’ry one’a them dime novels’a yers.”
“Dime novels?”
“Durn tootin’! I got some right here in my shop. Don’t go ‘way now.”
She skittered inside and rummaged through her belongings as The Kid contemplated the notion of dime novels with his name attached to them. This sort of notoriety made him uncomfortable, even more so when Charlene ran back out with a stack of paperback books the size of a small child and plopped them at his feet.
“What in tarnation…?” The Kid wondered as he grabbed a few choice titles off the top and began to read them aloud. “What have you got here? The Legend of the Canyon Kid…The Wrath of the Canyon Kid…The Canyon Kid’s Return… Here Comes the Canyon Kid Again…”
“This one’s my favorite,” Charlene said, pulling yet another out of her back pocket.
“The Canyon Kid and the Temple of Doom? Looks like I should get me an agent.”
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