Saddle Up Pardner!
Pecos Bill Presents Peculiar Panhandles: Oklahoma & Texas Tales.
It’s my debut and I feel like the prince of the ball.
Well, now pardner, I’ve been hard at work whippin’ up tales of the Oklahoma and Texas Panhandle. It’s finally here, hot off the newfangled cyber-presses. If you get a chance, mosey on over and give it a read; I’m sure you’ll have a rootin’, tootin’ good time. As my way of sayin’ thanks for stoppin’ by, I’m giving y’all something extra special to read. Exclusive content that didn’t make it into the final book. Enjoy!
Pecos Bill Presents Peculiar Panhandles - Available on Amazon (Paid Link)
Exclusive Content: The Cimarron Cutoff Rescue
Now, partner, if you’ve ever traveled the Panhandles, you know they ain’t the kind of place to take lightly. Between the heat, the dry winds, and the lack of water, it’s a land that’ll test your mettle faster than a poker game with a sharp-eyed dealer. Back in the day, plenty of folks found that out the hard way, especially those brave—or foolhardy—souls who took the Cimarron Cutoff.
The way I heard it, a wagon train headed for Santa Fe got themselves in a real pickle out on that trail. They were low on water, high on tempers, and one bad day away from turnin’ back. The leader, a feller named Jedediah Hawkins, was as stubborn as a mule in quicksand, refusin’ to admit they were lost.
Well, lucky for them, I was ridin’ through that stretch of land with Widowmaker when I spotted their camp. Smoke was risin’ in a thin, sorry line, and their wagons looked like they’d been chewed up and spit out by the prairie. I rode in slow, not wantin’ to spook ‘em, but before I could say a word, Jedediah stomped up to me, his face redder than a prairie sunset.
“Who in tarnation are you?” he barked.
“Name’s Pecos Bill,” I said, tippin’ my hat. “Looked like you folks could use a hand.”
Jedediah squinted at me like I’d just grown a second head. “We don’t need no help,” he growled. “We’re just takin’ a rest before pushin’ on.”
“Restin’, huh?” I said, glancin’ at their dry water barrels and tired oxen. “Looks more like you’re sittin’ ducks waitin’ for a vulture to pick ya clean.”
That got the attention of the others, who were lookin’ at Jed like they were about ready to mutiny. A woman in a bonnet stepped forward, her face lined with worry.
“Please, Mr. Bill,” she said. “We’ve got children with us. If you know a way to get us out of here, we’d be mighty grateful.”
Well, I couldn’t say no to that, so I climbed down off Widowmaker and started makin’ a plan. Now, most folks would’ve pointed ‘em back toward the Santa Fe Trail, but where’s the fun in that? I figured I’d give ‘em a story to tell their grandkids.
“Y’all sit tight,” I said, grabbin’ my rattlesnake lasso. “This here’s gonna take some doin’.”
The first thing I did was round up the wagons. With a flick of my lasso, I roped all six of ‘em together and hitched ‘em to Widowmaker, who snorted like he was about to run a race. Then I climbed into the lead wagon, grabbed the reins, and hollered, “Hang on, folks! We’re takin’ the express route!”
Widowmaker reared up, his hooves sparkin’ like fireworks against the dry ground, and took off like a shot. The wagons followed, bumpin’ and rattlin’ so hard the pots and pans were singin’ like a church choir. We tore across the prairie, leavin’ a trail of dust big enough to blot out the sun.
As we went, I kept an eye on the horizon, lookin’ for landmarks. Sure enough, there it was—Autograph Rock, that famous sandstone bluff where travelers carved their names. I pulled the wagons to a stop, jumped out, and hollered, “Time to leave your mark, folks! We’re almost there!”
The passengers scrambled out, carvin’ their names as fast as their knives could move. Meanwhile, I gave Widowmaker a pat and told him to rest up for the final leg. When the last name was carved, I hitched ‘em back up and set my sights on Cold Spring.
Now, here’s where it gets tricky. Between Autograph Rock and Cold Spring, there’s a stretch of land so rough it’ll chew up a wagon wheel and spit it out like a sunflower seed. But I wasn’t about to let that stop me.
With a whistle, I called down a whirlwind—just a little one, mind ya—and set it right behind the wagons. It lifted ‘em clean off the ground, carryin’ ‘em over the rough terrain like they were floatin’ on air. When we landed at Cold Spring, the folks were so stunned they didn’t know whether to cheer or faint.
“Water’s that way,” I said, pointin’ to the spring. “Fill your barrels and rest your oxen. You’re back on track now.”
They thanked me up one side and down the other, but I just tipped my hat and climbed back on Widowmaker. As I rode off, I heard Jedediah say, “Maybe we should listen to the locals next time.”
And that, partner, is how I saved a wagon train on the Cimarron Cutoff. So if you’re ever out near Autograph Rock or Cold Spring, take a moment to tip your hat to the wind. You might just hear the faint rattle of wagons and the laughter of folks who lived to tell the tale.