Butterfield Stage {nanowrimo}

“What bout them” Ruth nodded toward the masked riders?
“Spect their wait’n for the Butterfield stage,
being their carry’n payroll for the miners up in Clarksville.
Comm’on Miss Ruth, I think we od’da join John and
see can’t we put a stop to this massacre”
“Don’t think Ole Pete an’na couple of guards can take em”

“John Marhall is that you, it’s Duke Laramie, use some help”?

“Ruth” , taking John a little off guard?

“John, we all thought you’s dead” she said tears came to her eyes.

“Ain’t time for answer’n no question’s, John said just get ready to stand your ground boy’s”.

The outlaws lined the moonlight road upon hearing the uncanny sound of the approaching stage.
The images of six horses top the hill; stage coach barreling behind it.
The first gunman raised his riffle took aim, ready to shot.
John’s first shot took him out, dust flew when he hit the ground.
Duke pulled his gun.
When it was over seven men lay dead in the dirt,
the other three turned tail and run.

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