Hi everyone. Welcome to Snippet Sunday and Weekend Writing Warriors. For all those who have stopped by in the last couple of weeks, thank you so much for your comments and feedback. With your help, I’ll continue to meander along in the 19th century, looking for a title as I decide where this story ends.


McCallisters 1866

A cold wind swept from the canyon below, brushing icy fingers over their skin, reminding them why they were here.

“Up ahead is the bluff that overlooks the gathering place,” Charlie said. “My father called it Cañón de las Almas, Canyon of Souls.”

A wave of excitement surged through Sam as he followed his cousin up the trail. Though it was Charlie’s witch woman they’d travelled all day to see, it was this place itself that pulled at Sam. He wanted to explore the rocks, crevices, and canyon.

When Charlie and Rob led their mounts to a copse of scrub pines and secured them, Sam removed his tack and stashed saddle and bridle behind a rock before setting his animal free.

Rob frowned at him. “I hope to hell we don’t have to ride out of here fast.”

A Few More Lines

Sam grinned. “He’ll come when I call him. I don’t need the tack if push comes to shove.”

“Push and shove being a tribe of pissed-off Apaches chasing us down,” Rob muttered.

“No talk from here on.” His cousin’s murmur was barely a whisper, but the command shut them both up.

Sam inhaled. A hint of burning sage drifted in the air. He tapped his nose, mouthing the word smoke. Rob nodded.

Charlie crouched low and then dropped to his stomach, belly crawling to the edge of the cliff. Sam and his brother followed their cousin. Once all three lay side-by-side, they peered down at the Apache camp.

From their vantage point, Sam recognized the markings that distinguished the braves in the clearing below as Mescaleros, Arapaho, Chiricahua, and Kiowa. He counted at least four war chiefs and estimated that there were over a hundred Apache braves attending the powwow.

The person inside the circle appeared to be a warrior. Sam stared down at the stocky figure, trying to decide if it was a she, and the reason they’d come to spy. With great care, he turned his head to face Charlie, arching his brow in silent question. Lozen?



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