It’s been suggested that I participate in What Pegman Saw since I haven’t in awhile.
I have to admit, I have about as much desire to write as I do to pull out my eyelashes with tweezers, which is to say, none. I tried to rework a handwritten story that’s been sitting on my desk, but had no luck trying to resuscitate it. So instead I’ll reblog the story I did the last time Pegman was in Arizona.
Palisade Rim/Ute Petroglyph Trail, Colorado © Google Maps
Her thighs ached from the ride. Not the days’ ride up from Delta, but the ride the night before with the rustler from Laramie. As he’d slept, she’d pilfered his pockets and his money had bought this mount. She was northbound before the sun had climbed over the sagebrush east of town.
It was a sorry state of affairs that had brought her here. She had no say in the laws of man. Laws that would let her hold no property, or earn an honest living better than starvation wage. Laws that said she must submit to the hand of a drunken fool. She had as much right to live free in this country as any man.
She nudged the toe of her soft kid boot at the mare’s belly and clucked. As the mare cantered to a gallop, she decided: from…
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