Laufenberg was considered a juvenile delinquent when he joined the Marine Corps on his 17th birthday. He served three years and his novel "Semper-Fi-do-or-Die" was written 30 years later. The jobs he's held and things he's done are so diverse and inscrutable that they are hard to pin down and positively identify but he admits to having engaged in the following professions: professional boxer, comedian, carpenter, car salesman, R. Salesman, Mortgage broker, bartender, bouncer, and lifeguard.
He claims to use these experiences, among others not so easily identified, in his writing s. He has been writing articles, memoir, poetry, short stories and novels for over four decades and has hundreds of them published in Literary journals and magazines as well as online periodicals. He has one poetry chapbook, seven books of short stories and six novels for sale in bookstores and e-stores worldwide, including the Amazon bookstore and Amazon Kindle e-book.
Please visit his website: www. Are you an author? Help us improve our Author Pages by updating your bibliography and submitting a new or current image and biography. Learn more at Author Central. Previous page. Kindle Edition. Next page. There's a problem loading this menu right now. Learn more about Amazon Prime. Get fast, free delivery with Amazon Prime. Books By Keith G. Usually ships within 1 to 2 months. That's hot country this time o' year. They're your kinfolk. Best look after 'em. If we sett'lers and town folk need help, we turn to you.
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You know the law better than us and that's why we put trust in you. Ain't nothin' new 'bout that. As the wood smoldered, Jacob Flowers and I quickly stomped and booted the wood in different directions to make sure every spark was out. He mounted his chestnut and I footed the stirrup to my bay. Turning away from where I'd slept, we headed northeast to Cheyenne River. Jacob Flowers wasn't much of a talker when we were making our way through Colmer Valley. It was the cool of the day in this lowland. Beautiful scenery lay all around us in between the cliffs that stretched to the sky, beginning to change color from a dark maroon to hues of rust and pink, finally coming to life.
Flowers, how was it that you came to find me? Wanna see 'em, Marshal? We kicked up dust and tumbleweed along the way and maybe an hour later we were seeing the distant outskirts of Cheyenne River. It was a peaceful town thanks to me and Howard who came here from Wescon, Kansas, near the border with Colorado. Wescon had its problems with justice and it didn't take long to get that cowboy town under our control in making it honest and livable.
Years later Howard and I got word of Cheyenne River being a tough town, looking for a respectable lawman to come in and straighten it up a bit. They immediately hired me and I wouldn't take the job without Howard. We work together real good and I said that same fact to the Cheyenne River Municipal Organization bunch of stupid dumb fucks anyway and they went along with authorizing both of us. Marshal Office. A water trough in front of us let the horses stand idle to cool their flanks and drink.
The three of us walked into the office and I stood behind my desk searching through a stack of wanted posters. My eyes leveled on Howard. In the meantime, Mr.
Flowers and I are headed north of here. Howard and I walked outside. I guess it's his word against them Waverlys'. Somebody's gonna be truthful to this story. He was already saddled, had canteens filled for him and me, and was slowly backing away from the Marshal's Office to the center of Cheyenne River. I had already packed the saddlebags with fresh ammunition for my Colt. There was enough for Mr. Flowers in case he decided to join in on the Waverly manhunt.
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I waved a goodbye to Howard, footed the saddle and turned the bay in the direction of the end of town. Heading north, we made our way across rolling landscape, a distance east of the beginning hills that eventually elevated into a long stretch of Lost Creek Wilderness, nestled at the base of the Pawnee Butts. I'd been this direction before on personal family business, paying my respects to a nephew who had passed on from an unknown sickness that had kept him suddenly bedridden for weeks. My sister was more than damn 'ol fever upset.
Never seen her cry so much in my entire life. Doctor had come in from Morgan City. He said it to be a moving fever, and for family members to be in a quarantine location as designated by the doctor himself along with the county sheriff. It finally went away over time after killing three members of another family. I've never been that sick before and ever since been doin' my best in keepin' it that way. Real sorry for my kinfolk who came down with it first, and then it spread in all directions.
Bad news, but everything got better over time. We weren't that far away from Little John, maybe another hour, crossing up and down hills, then the high plains would be in front of us a short distance, before the land returned to rolling hills. We crossed the Cottonwood Creek maybe a half mile back knowing our destination wasn't that far away. Jacob Flowers didn't talk much after leaving Cheyenne River, but now something must have triggered his lips to the degree he couldn't shut up. I got tired of his jawin' and I flat out told 'im to hush up or I'd turn back from where we came.
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He followed orders for a spell, knowin' that I was payin' attention. Mostly troublemakers and those with supposed fast guns. Fast talker with that fancy Winchester.
And those scum drovers? After I finished takin' care o' him the others suddenly disappeared. Make ya scared? He didn't respect my no-guns-in-Cheyenne River law, so Deputy McClintick and I straightened their minds out real quick. And it seems to be working. Little Joe wasn't that far away but I had a serious feeling that any moment the gray and ebony sky would begin to open up with much-needed rain for the farmers and sodbusters.
The next thing Jacob Flowers and I felt was a cloudburst, first with droplets, then with sheets of driving rain. We were instantly saturated. We pointed our hats downward to keep the wind and driving rain away from our faces. The movement of our horses was slow paced, since we were careful of the rutted road used by the stage line and freight wagons. Nothing worse than a horse gone lame thanks to a misstep from a deep-in-the-mud wheel mark road.
We made our way into the far end of Little John. In the back of one of the buildings, soaked with rain, was a flap-open tent awaiting the next gentleman to get off with one of the whores.
The front street was extremely muddy, wagon tracks had already overflowed with rain in both directions and the town remained empty except for several wet horses hitched in front of the Lady Lee Saloon and Entertainment Establishment. From underneath one of the taller boardwalks a mangy wet dog presented itself as if wanting company to walk him home in this rough-hewn tiny community. He was shivering, in obvious need of food and a good companion so he strayed with us. Write a Review. Related Searches. Always Never, George, i, Spy. George, deeply involved with that, finds View Product.
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