The Grave of Indian Bill, A Short Story by Kirby Jonas
Morning frost still glittered on the autumn grass when I saddled my red roan gelding and rode away from the ramshackle ranch house. I took the trail south, winding through patches of broken granite boulders and gnarled aspen trees as we climbed ever upward toward the...
Welcome Back Christmas, Dowdy Branson
Gravel grated under Dowdy Branson’s tires as he slid the old Chevy to a stop at the curb. There he came, walking fast, the latest in a long line of vagrants Dowdy had passed before first arriving in Kalispell that morning and making his way out this...
Black of the Swamp, Short Story By Kirby Jonas
The swamp engulfs the last blood-red vestige of the sun, and darkness falls over me like a vast sheet. In every direction, the sound of crickets chirping and frogs croaking creates an almost overpowering din. It rings in my head like death chants, like a million...