There’s A Storm Moving In
The sun beat down relentlessly over the prairie as Jack Rowley forced his horse to a stop under some shade; if you could actually call it shade. He was dying for a drink and even though he had a full skin of water tied to the saddle it wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. He saw a small town in the distance as he took his big black hat off his head and ran his fingers through his equally black hair. He hoped this little town had a well stocked saloon that he could spend the rest of the day in, drinking away the soreness from three months in the saddle.


