When they came for him, he knew what he had to do...run!
Quaker farm-boy James Deeter escapes west ahead of Union Army recruiters, "aiming to look manly aboard my Appaloosa horse, long hair flying free from under a wide-brimmed, rawhide sombrero, a couple of six-shooters on my hips and a plains rifle dangling from a brass-tacked saddle."
To save his life, Deeter rides with rebel leaders William Quantrill, "Bloody Bill" Anderson, and the teen-aged James and Younger brothers.
To save his soul, he tries not to hurt anybody...
Which works for about a minute.
Can Deeter reconcile his peace-loving faith with his participation in some of the most violent episodes in American history?
Can he even survive?
His horse doesn't think so.
Dave Eisenstark has been writing professionally and working in the film industry in various capacities for more years than he actually remembers. Nine of his feature film scripts have been produced, including the award-winning comedy Monkey Love (starring Jeremy Renner) and the horror classic Creepozoids.
Like film producer George Lucas, Dave graduated with a degree from USC Cinema; unlike Mr. Lucas, everything else.
Dave's first novel, The Video Killer, is probably vile, tasteless trash, but possibly amusing, and currently available from Spanking Pulp Press.
Dave was born in Kansas, grew up in Kansas, and received his BA in English Literature from the University of Kansas. His interest in the Missouri/Kansas border war stems from that early exposure.
Dave now lives in Los Angeles with his wife, a production sound mixer on major motion pictures. His daughter resides in Beijing.
Yes, he has pets, who asked not to be mentioned.
For all things "Dave," go here:
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BLEEDING KANSAS AVAILABLE AT:
About noon a farmer came up in a wagon.
"Like a ride, son?" he asked, and I was mighty grateful he did because I'd have had to ask otherwise, and I hate asking favors. My feet were already sore and I wasn't more than ten miles down the road.
"Thanks, mister," I said and climbed on board.
"Name's Wallace," he said.
"Mine's Hollenbeck," I told him, having decided earlier to use phony names like all the major Western outlaws done.
"Coulda swore you was the Deeter boy from over at the Junction," he said.
"Nope, name's Hollenbeck," I replied and wondered where Wallace knew me from.
"Where you headed?" he asked.
"Out west. Kansas, maybe Colorado, maybe even California. Going where a man can breathe clean and spread his arms wide. Goin' where the coyotes inquire of the moon every night when the sun goes down. Goin' where a man can be wolf-wild and free as the wind," I told him. I'd remembered all that from a book.
Wallace looked at me like he hadn't seen me the first time. "I guess you ain't the Deeter boy after all. You ever met the Deeters?" he asked.
"No, sir," I lied.
"Well, William Deeter's a real terror, but Mrs. Deeter's a good Quaker woman and she wouldn't let any son of hers go west where there's all that fighting and war. A man's got to take up arms himself in wild country like that or die. In Missouri you'll find bushwhackers, and if you live as far as Kansas, you'll see Redlegs—Jayhawkers some call 'em. They fight for the Union side against the Missouri guerillas. I never been there but I hear the fightin's fierce and a man can't trust anybody. I don't see how a Quaker boy could ever last a minute out there."
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